Night sirens wailing. Steely skies
City at his beck and call. No bodyguard
Racing the moon. Running past midnight
Best-selling Author Disappears!
He could already see headlines
And his publisher. Blinking. Fuming
Andrew, you’re killing me!
You want to ruin me, or what?
(Like he was the guy going down)
As ‘The Writer’ writes himself out of life
Back [home]. Sanity restored. Not home
An airless balcony. Above Central Park.
No words. Nothing to say. No words. Nothing to write.
Another sultry, empty night. Too perfect smiles.
Flirtations. Another dead end party. A grand escape
Too much. He was completely done with small talk
Thin as pond-ice in springtime
As Ma used to say of them huffy folks
Ages ago an’ way ‘back when’. He missed her
Humble pie kinda days. Out of reach now
Kind of like Karra. Life always got back to her
No shortage of re-runs. Or late shows
Infotainment. Tired him. So he ran
Late news junkie. And then, Karra. On a 10 sec. news clip
Impossible. Some kind of miracle finding her this way
Waiting at the ends of the earth. As if offering a last chance
Grabbing a cab at 2 a.m. La Guardia to Seoul
Decided to let things fall. Tumble where they would.
Let her know he was drifting. Without her. Something
Anything. No. It would have to be the truth
She’d expect it. Tell her you love her, he insisted
Writing to himself. Strange habit. Getting words down
Running again. Past midnight.
© 2013 S. Michaels
Seven Love Stories – Andrew & Karra