I write stilted poetry
As I wait for you on this lonesome Wednesday,
Remembering that you looked at me in a night
Across a table at Starbucks café.
I would love a minstrel
Who plays banjo in a funked-down, traveling, southern band.
I am brimming.
I want chocolate
But cannot in today’s opaque rain
Clichéd rivers wander around camp fires
Along sullen banks,
And helicopters from Ft. Belvoir
Stutter and predict.
Your hands too are cold.
Mine tremble in a night
Which boasts of no shooting stars.