Another Lunar New Year

and I find myself in the bughouse,
again, my heart in my eyes, and buzzing
through the door at the Elks on a Friday night
for his chicken lo mein and eggrolls.
It’s the Year of the Dragon,

and my monsters are nothing
but ardent.  Bright-eyed and amorous
they are fiery-tongued, and word-slipped
as they tend to be in flatlined winter.
When his shift is over, and he’s

ordered a pint, I pat the barstool
next to me, settle in close for stories,
and his good company. We’re not public
like this, it’s a first, but he’s a dimber cove,
and I tease him that without my readers

he could be the actor Jeremy Allan White
of Calvin Klein ad fame, only his older, hotter
brother, rooftop cavorting in his skivvies,
his arms stretching for the blaze, reaching
for me in sizzling moments.  He tells me

it’s time I have my eyes checked. He’s no
quick smiler, but his hand touches my arm, shoulder,
every time I think he will.  And later, when I text him
thank you, his fiery reply, Night beautiful!
keeps me smitten; keeps me warm.

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