First Date at Bloomfield Bridge Tavern

The moment he said
“I'll be the one smoking at the bar
reading the Tao of Winnie the Pooh,”
I should have known.

I should have faked an illness
and cancelled the date.

I should have.

Instead, I took the stool
close to the door
leaned in close
and listened.

Listened to the story
of his heartbreak
his time spent in a Buddhist monastery.

All the while,
I kept thinking:
He spent time in a Buddhist monastery. He can't be
that bad.

But each time I leaned in closer
noticed the scent of cigarettes, stale coffee and beer
looked at each pore on his face
and pieced together the fact
that he looked nothing like his profile picture
I never once
believed that the date would be going
anywhere.

No matter how good
his stories were.

After two hours of listening
never quite
being heard
I sat still and kept drinking.

When he offered to walk me home
even though he lived a block away
from the bar
I declined.

When he offered to sit in my car
and drive home with me
I declined.

When he invited me to brunch
I said, Maybe.

And when he asked to kiss me goodnight
I said, OK
never thinking
I might
enjoy it.