Artisan Ice Cream

Across the table from an empty chair, I sat and tried to sound interesting, She stood so close and we discussed ice cream, And Cornflakes, and bourbon, and the art scene, The fact we both have lived in bungalows, We had seen each other twice before this, The second time was in a crowded hall, In a house with a Latin band playing, I never asked her about a fourth time, Because wouldn’t that just be so cliché, She smiled at me again and left me there, Outside of the artisan ice cream shop, Across the table from an empty chair. Michael F. Lewis 02/03/2013