There is a storm
with attendant rains
and thunder
and forceful gales
that the sane would sooner avoid
and you are out
and you are driving.

You have pierced the eye
and are hurtling well into worse weather
because a girl who is cute
said maybe she’d meet up with you
at this club in Staten Island.
You have boroughs to bound through
on a gallon of gas
and one weak windshield wiper.

It is stupid
this quest you’ve begun.
You hate Staten Island but
you liked the girl’s smile and
you suspect
she might just possibly like you.
Will this voyage be worth it, though,
if you hit a deer or a kumquat
or whatever runs loose in these outer boroughs?
Time will tell.

You shouldn’t be out and about.
You should be home, alone
with your ancient DVD collection
considering the romantic comedies of yesteryear.
Things worked out in those films.
Things are safe for the viewer.
Nobody dies on a damp
apocalyptic road in the hopes that a girl might smile at him again.

You should turn around.
You should flee the storm.
You should get out of this borough
and head back from whence you came.

But you won’t.
It’s clear you’re in for the long haul,
through rain, storm, and gloomy night,
you are off to see that girl.
What is it they say about fools and lovers?

Maybe she’ll tell you.