Near James Taylor Bridge

she needed to be home, but telling
her husband about the Blue Devils
on her cell was smart,
kept him informed, innocent
of her illicit meeting,
but now she sat by the ugly bridge,
a stupid memorial to a great singer,
her lover opening room
on his lap while they listened
to cars swoosh by in the rain,
all other Heels' fans leaving,
going out to Squids or Sparky's,
but here she was, holding her man,
and his wet hands moved
under her soaked sweater
and no inner voice
screamed don't,
she only brushing
her long hair from her eyes,
and letting him unbutton
her tight jeans.