Next Sunday Poem by Hershe Moore

Met him on a cloudy Sunday morning,
thunder clappin with the sizzle of the bacon,
People reacting to the news from the night befo',
waitresses bumping and tossing orders to the man,
He didn't have to stand,
Just sent me my coffee...
Sweet!
Since I'm drenched in the days mist,
Hair no longer with curls nor a twist,
All that primping in the mirror night before,
simply unaware that the weather would have say so.
His bacon looks...
Good!
I think I'll have the same.
Now, I usually have the sausage but I don't mind a little change.
I catch his eye,
able to reply with a nod,
Thankyou.
Quickly turn my head,
'bout time I turn around he's standing six two.
Calls me Miss
apologizing for nothing.
He commits no offense
Look at me,
I'm blushing!
He didn't even want nothing,
just gave his number and name.
Left saying, ' Same time next Sunday.'
I pray it don't rain.