The Telltale Sign

A valentine memory of Newberry Street carrying the full force of winter.

We meet at the bar
at the end of the day,
sink into a corner booth
no idea how long we’ll stay.

I’ll have a scotch  
on the rocks with a twist,  
you ponder your choice, 
promiscuous, 
no conviction.

The steak house is steamy,
its windows wet 
with condensation.
Mass Ave just outside
is freezing,
and we’re walking home? 
No decision yet.

Newberry Street’s a canyon
carrying the full force of winter,
nails in the wind
a Nor’easter sent here.

Late night on a wintery Newberry Street, Boston.

Another round?
All but for 
an early morning meeting, 
a brief, a client call,
telltale signs 
of responsibility.

We part the bar,
bundled and braced,
turn the corner 
knowing the gauntlet we face,
lean strong into the wind, 
heads down, 
arms around each other,
pulling close, 
thoughts under the covers.

Only we know, 
as we round the corner, 
the answer to their questioning eyes,
darting back,
pondering….

Where are they going?