Let’s meet, you message, and she says sure,
so right away you start mind-fumbling subjects
you might discuss, things to talk about arising
from fuzzy notions about first-meeting protocol, 
rescanning her profile page to cram in her interests.

Your memory’s crackling and popping so you write them down
on a scrap of paper you put in your pocket for quick reference,
then you arrive early, as always, order a cup of coffee, as always,
and contemplate in a whirl what you’ll forget to say what and what ask.

As the moment draws near, your heart speeds and skips,
your eyes dry up staring at the door that seems stuck closed,
your coffee grows cold, and you finally ask for the tab.

After struggling to get there, you sit in your car for a year,
then drive home’s a mystery as you function in a fog.

Stumble into your kick-back clothes now and lie down to dodge a bullet.

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