tuesdays at 4th & race tower

i wasn’t looking for him

that fateful day in may

when we shared an elevator

in the 4th & race tower

 

i had business going up

but the look in his eyes

told me he was thinking of a merger

as he was going down

 

we fell immediately

 

he was more f. lee bailey

than atticus finch

as we sat side by side

corner booth clandestine

in the federal reserve bar

 

skyline glistening

him whispering

meticulously explaining his intentions

to remove my clothes as we sat there

ice dripping from our manhattans

 

softly

his fingers traced my cleavage with desire

such well-tailored

justifications we both wore

as we disregarded

his wife

my husband

and the groceries in the car

 

so many pairs of new heels

bottles of perfume

and panties purchased

in his honor

 

hiding hotel keys and receipts

within our comfortable suburban ruts

a trail of miniature shampoos

and complimentary soaps

left behind in our quiet footsteps

 

we burned beautifully

as we used each other for warmth

for the heat of fire

sometimes we would stroll through bromwells pretending

one day we would share a hearth

 

even jimmy the bellman was

gladly complicit

winking and smiling

passing messages back and forth in the art deco lobby

of our grand love affair

 

how careful we were

 

so many afternoons we rose

together

coming

to the 14th floor

passion torn open with desperate kisses

atop a mahogany desk

 

before retreating to wayward text messages

and running errands that didn’t need running

to sneek in a phone call

 

these delicious tuesdays

were not enough

to sustain us

 

how we suffered for each other

 

until the rainy afternoon

i drove into the city

to surprise him for lunch

on the wrong day

and saw his face under the portico

buried in the hair of the wednesday blonde

 

i laughed aloud at the instant karma

and the thought of being the tuesday brunette

 

as he was

my tuesday bald guy