She was a dancer

Who looked like

Meghan Merkle

Might have looked

At age 23.

I was a sentimental

Poet and wannabe

Classical guitarist

Fond of Segovia

And sentimental

Melodies, though

I was too shot

Through after work

To play anything by

Sor, much less Bach.

But it was the dream.

Surprisingly, she sent

Me a text weeks after

Disappearing from

The trap. So I thought

Just maybe the Chemistry

I’d sensed Might not have 

Been Just me. On the way

To the diner where

We’d agreed to meet,

I told myself to not

Say anything about

Her religious beliefs;

We’d had those debates

Before. But sometime

After dinner, she leaned

Into me, gazed into my

Eyes and told me to check

Out this YouTube video

Spun by a preacher who

Claimed that Jesus would

Be transporting all of his

Faithful up to be with him

In 2012. She said it would

Be cool if we hooked up

In heaven. I searched her

Eyes for signs of insanity,

But didn’t see any. I told

Myself to just play along

And get some Halfrican

Love and much needed

Ass, but despite my hard-

Up condition, I leaned

Right in and told her

Straight that the end

Times have been

predicted time and

Again, century after

Century, and come 2012,

We’d either still be glued

To this limiting Earth or

Dead. She looked at me

With glazed eyes and

Sighed, and I knew that

Sigh that always meant

Goodbye. And later that

Night I tried to play a

Sentimental melody

On the classical guitar,

But halfway through

The first few bars of

“Romanza” by anonymous

I laughed, put it down,

And never tried again.

 

— Fyodor Bukowski

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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