My Love Story

 

I tripped on your laptop

case resting on the sidewalk

and twisted my left knee.

I was trying to catch

the Metro at the next stop

and its damn driver

who shut the door in my face

and left me running away

from the last stop,

three blocks back.

 

You were standing

by your Corolla,

on your way home

to your townhouse

you said. I preferred to cuss

at you and that bastard

from the concrete,

then hobble to the bench

at the waiting area,

because this was not

my first slip, but you pulled

me up and drove

to the hospital, waited

until the cast was on my leg

before dropping me

at my apartment.

 

I began to respect you then,

but didn’t know you

had fallen too,

until my door bell clanged,

and I found you standing

on my jute welcome mat

holding a box of cheese sticks

and a vegetarian supreme pizza,

grinning like the grill

of an 18-wheeler truck.

 

——————————–

 

Wouldn’t You Like to Know?

 

A pop-up screen blinks at me,

asks me if I want to know

when I will die; I reply no,

and skip to the next website

to check my e-mail. I will never

find out when my heart will stop

until angina keeps me

from climbing trees at eighty.

 

I don’t want to suffer

but slip away in a dream,

not realize when fantasy

becomes a stroll down the path

toward the coffin waiting

for my body, and my soul

keeps me company

until the Day of Judgment,

when God will reveal if I deserve

to go to heaven and if the man I love

will come to meet me at its gates.