Hell. It’s Valentine’s Day.

Ah, February in Boston.
20 degrees feels like 14 below.
We ignore the weather report
Our love so hot it melts the snow.

Silk dress and real stockings.
Under a down coat the makes me
Look like the Michelin Man in drag.
Mmmm. That’s what I call sexy.

Destination North End.
Romance craves Italian food.
The cuisine of love, that’s amore.
Nothing like cannoli to put you in the mood.

Parking here is never easy.
We score a spot about a mile away.
Huddled together we brave the wind
What the hell, it’s Valentine’s Day!

Approaching the restaurant
A man leans over the curb, crouched low
He’s puking his guts out
Putting on quite a show

His date stands there watching
Helpless and not exactly having fun
What else can she do
But wait for the heaves to be done?

My own stomach flip-flops
Wondering where the poor guy ate
He’s right outside Lombardi’s
And by now we’re late

Upstairs, the uppity hostess
Says they’re booked, not one table to spare
Claims we have no reservation
Hey,Cupid, man, this ain’t fair!

Back outside we argue
But what can either of us say?
We’re SOL. Plans ruined.
What the fuck. It’s Valentine’s Day.

© Susan Reid 2020. All rights reserved.