“11:03 am”

They picked a little town called Asheville, North Carolina

That is “urbane without being urban.”

She bartends at a place they own,

He has long, lustrous brown hair

That waves with liplike synergy.


Almost inspiring, she

Patrols the bar,

Policing malaise and

Extinguishing it, repeating

Stories that are hers to wear,

In a profession that involves

Ordering pizza for bands

And getting sick of the whole thing

In that small town

Across from a gas station and a church

Where to inspire would just spur

Gaunt silence in the room that I walk by

At 11:03 overjoyed to see it empty.

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