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Mooring

Instead she slithered into a short skirt
and danced away memories
catching his eye, and his cold.

Outside, a gnome practiced the alphabet
as they slid into the gray hearse
that first night for the long talk home,

their breaths intermingling at minus five.
A pas de deux was followed by cappuccinos
and more;

eyes, for the first time in years,
or so she thought,
caressing every word

that crossed her full red lips.
Later, they would check each other's vitals,
and vow to lead a healthier life,

filled with music and flowers.
Math problems and pasta were listed
among their credits,

a new voice lifting them above the drone
of the supermarket checkout line.
They held each other with dreams

that last night in the parking lot
while the band played on and on,
knowing the white house would spring up

like a rude mushroom,
and send them crashing to earth
all too suddenly.

Greta Garbo