I don’t ask often.
But we met on the metro.
He was reading Milton.
And my vanilla latte spilt.
We cleaned the mess
and exchanged
numbers.
The goddess of answering machines
caught his phone call. Sent us
gallivanting last Friday night
into the glass and brick city,
where we built shires to our goddess
of the life story and college memory.
He called again on Monday.
Will you humor me?
Open wide the highway tonight.
Tweak the radio and select
a slow song. Let us forget
where all roads lead -
or how long we’ve driven
with empty passenger seats.
Sunsets are nice, but I’d settle
for blue sky.
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