Sunday Morning Warning

Met in a bar on a Sunday morning
Eggs Benedict and a Hurricane Warning
Both on a bounce, a love rebound
So logic, perhaps, not that sound,

Went for a walk, an afternoon hike
Down by the river, out of sight
Water a metaphor for time
Out of holes they tried to climb,

She’d been living with a retired cop
Next to their bed a loaded Glock
He, she said, a robotic lover
It took a while for her to discover,

He was living with a movie star
A romance writer with a Tesla Car
She liked to cook and liked to screw
Then one day said, “we’re all through,”

Both said they wanted it all
Times Square, New Year’s ball
Waiting to drop right on the mark
Crossed the river, cut through the park,

He knew a place, The Jazz Venue
She said great, something new
Bars on the windows, saint or sinner
No cover charge is your order diner,

Hammond B3, sax and a drummer
Lounge singer, named Someday Summer
They split a steak, martini cocktails
In search of their own white whales,

She lived in town, he was ten miles out
Listened to the music, each with doubt
Two a.m. the bar closed down
No taxi cabs to be found,

Walked about two miles, or three
Each not sure what might be
Finally, she asked, are you gonna stay
He blinked and said, if it’s ok,

Threw her clothes in the washing machine
Not too tall, too fit, too lean
Said don’t worry, I don’t bite
He said damn, I’d hoped you might …