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.