~another Bucketman series poem of loving and its complications~

She rallied herself in the a.m.
to see him, tussled and still
reeling from the eve's consumption,
she knew if she didn't arrive he'd be blue.

One shoe on, then two, haranguing
through metro doors and howling
trains. Schlepping stairs. Pressing
hard against cold winter air,

only to see his face and know
he was well-too. She promised
herself their's was but a moments
interlude-a random consideration

in the brink of discussion and
dinner drinks. She had forgotten
her scarf, he thought purposefully,
alas accidentally so. With no

ideal in mind, he returned,
scarf in hand and whispered.
His voice permeated her, it
was reminiscent of a father's

wise counsel in secret impasses.
Thinking, mulling, head wracked,
what not to do, what to do, she
could not decide. Uttered a prayer

skyward-what should she do?
With quickened pace tapping a
short note she thought just to
say thanks. He thought to say hi.

(Copyright © Donna L. Quesinberry-2007)