When Jenny wrote a personal ad,
she ran it for three weeks
and left a tasteful, clever message
detailing what she seeks--
a man who likes the finer things,
who has an education,
a careful connoisseur of love,
with tempered imagination.
Well into voice mail twenty-seven
she heaved a heavy sigh--
too old, too young, too eager, too married
and three who sounded high.
Among the twenty-seven callers,
she narrowed it to two--
a doctor quoting poetry,
an engineer named Lou.
The doctor appeared with a large head
that sat on a tiny neck.
He gabbed and wagged and recited his writing
while Jenny paid the check.
Lou wore his best baggy pants
and talked accents and class.
Lou guessed her blue-collar origins
and smirked and tipped his glass.
After Jenny trashed the personals,
she picked up her favorite pen
and smiled at her half-written book:
"Alone, at last, again."
