Here is the conclusion of my poem for May.
She, “Must have been a good book.”
Busted. She’s spotted him
across the room in E.R.
He, “Uh, yeah, I liked it.”
Finds a chair closer.
She, “You weren’t really reading.”
He, “Hard to.”
She, fakes disgust.
He, breathes out.
They, later, fortified with prescriptions,
He, finds his feet feel fine walking with her.
She, grimaces at their lookalike faces.
He, “Want to meet?”
Nothing masks pain like
the sudden discovery
of summer love.
(c) 2020 David L. Harrison, all rights reserved