She'll shop the Galleria

and purchase a bikini

call off work on Monday

and sip a Margarita

with her girlfriends on the beach.

She'll hope her ex-fiance

will hear she's running carefree

and realize what a fool he is

now that she's out of reach.

She'll spread her affections

out like captured sea urchins

to dry in the sun,

though they'll never be the same.

The pink glossy memory,

like hollowed, lifeless sea shells,

wildlife held so briefly,

that never could be retained.  

She's looking for a Tuesday

and a love without illusion,

a less-fragile union

that will hold up in the rain.