Another Ilene
My first appointment for P.T.
(To help my torn-meniscus knee)
Had me arriving at the same
Time as another with my name.
She entered with a loud complaint –
The elevator was too quaint
And so she’d walked a flight of stairs,
But locked doors caught her unawares.
Annoyed at forms for filling out,
“I need a pen!” she then did shout.
I quietly observed the scene,
Then stood when someone called, “Ilene!”
“But I’m Ilene!” she did insist.
She glared at me, a little pissed.
The clerk, though, took it all in stride.
“You’re both Ilenes,” she clarified.
Our name’s not often spelled with “I.”
I’m sure, like me, she wondered why
Coincidence or maybe fate
Brought us together on this date.
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