Scene of a Disaster

It was a Type I, Category III emergency,

beyond my personal resources to resolve.

I did a walkaround, sized up the situation,

called for backup,

but no one was on the way.

Mayday, emergency traffic, evacuate now!

I called for a defensive mode of operations.

There was no saving this.

Containment and protection of exposures

were the objectives now.

Retreat, retreat! Abort, abort!

Overwhelmed by the tragedy and conflagration,

I am ready to surrender command.

I walk through the ruins,

Boots crunching broken glass,

smoldering ashes,

toxic fumes.

“I had a wonderful time tonight,” he said.

“Would you be interested in coming back

to my place for some coffee?”
“I’m awfully tired,” I replied

with an apologetic frown.

“I’d like to see you again,” he suggested.

“Uh, I’m pretty busy this month.”

I start digging through my purse for car keys.

“I’ll get back to you, okay?”

Wet kiss deflected to left cheek.

In the safety of my car,

I slump head on the steering wheel

and exhale.