Diana Darby ** "I V" ** Intravenous

The Last Man

She said she wanted to be alone
on Thanksgiving,
so I didn’t invite her.
I didn’t feel sorry for her either,
sitting behind the reception desk
answering phones and writing emails.
She had changed.
Her long curly hair was blown straight now
and she was hard.
Jaded.
Her humor wasn't funny.
It had an element of tragedy to it
and it was bitter,
so very bitter.
As I sat looking at her,
I was sure she was
destined to be alone.
I imagined her thirty years from now.
A yenta,
sitting and gossiping with her friends.
Remembering me,
her curly red hair,
and the last man
who stole her heart.