The Man in the Three-Piece Suit

Telephone rings But she can’t answer it. Another day begins sorting clothes that don’t fit. The door still sticks And the hinges still squeak. There’s cat litter in the hall But there’s no time to sweep. Kettle screams in spits of fury. Needs to check her eyes, They still seem blurry. Because she keeps seeing him With every turn she takes. Spends happy hours wearing a smile she fakes. Wishes she didn’t feel the things she did feel She’s still driving, but he took her heart along with the wheel. Crashing into bushes, or carts full of fruit. Rescued by a stranger in a three piece suit. Magic in his touch. Sparkle in his eyes. Charming smile. She wonders if this is the guy. Lunchtime hour comes and goes. Hates the flu season and her runny nose. Friends invite her to the football game Even though they know she thinks the team is lame. All the time that she’s there she doesn’t root. Just keeps on dreaming ‘bout the guy in the three piece suit. Late a night she still sits in front of the computer screen. Curled up tight in her jammies with a container of ice cream. Surfs some sites just to see what to see. Tries to distract herself from other memories. Starts a chat with a fella named two one two Boot. He seems clever, just wished it were the man in the three piece suit. Slumber enters and soon she succumbs Hits the pillow well after three ones. Dreams of cites, green and alive. Walks to a subway where people go and arrive. Hears some music airy and sweet. Lulls her down the stairway, so light on her feet. No mistaking, the sound’s from a flute. And the guy who’s playing is the man in the three piece suit. She runs to him as a train whooshes by. Wakes with the alarm and another morning sigh. Telephone rings But she can’t answer it. Another day begins sorting clothes that don’t seem to fit.