Life Is Nice Iv Poem by Morgan Michaels

'I know'.

'We could visit Le Bagneur.

'and the Alice Neel's. Why not, sure. Give me a call.'Name's Mildred. Mildred Payntor.

Donnie bit back the impulse to reflect out loud on the name's suitability, given her space.

She seemed to appreciate his restraint.

'I will. But I don't have your number'.

'Oh', she said, laughing the oversight away.

From one pocket of her purse she drew a gold Cross Pen and from another a card, on which she scribbled a number.

'Here', she said, handing him it.

Scanning the card, Donnie was glad it wasn't an e-mail address. He thought she might be fun to actually talk to.

'By the way', he said, informatively, 'my name's Donnie. Dr. Donnie. I'm on my way to work'.

'Pleased to meet you, Dr. Donnie', she said, taking his hand and giving it a shake.

Then she disappeared down the subway well.

As if for the first time, he became aware of a clutch of recovered paper slips in his clenched hand. To these, he added the new one and decided to get a cup of coffee before going down for his train.

The better part of fifteen minutes later, he stepped from the platform into the just-arrived 5 and settled in.

'Sometimes life is fair', he reflected, waiting for the train to move, 'and sometimes not'.

Still satisfied with the symmetry, he continued.

'And sometimes, life is nice....'

The doors banged closed and the train began to move.