ONLINE ENCOUNTER PART 6 (7?)

He looked like a modernized version of the Big Boy
(close-cropped hair, goatee, Indians ball cap, but same face).

Shaker Heights is "the" suburb of Cleveland
And he was born there.
His mother is a Realtor.
His father is an orthopaedic surgeon.

He'd had surgery to repair a minor
Neural tube defect at the bottom of his spine,
But I promulgated a tail at some moments,
Perhaps those of most playful
repartee.

"I'll be the one in the Cleveland Indians cap."
I drove half an hour
At ten o'clock
For three beers and lively conversation...

As car axles, bauxite and feed corn are not fragile,
Freight train cars have little shock absorption;
So went the conversation, as if -- probably true --
It was destined to occur once and once only.
And certain incantations were scripted,
Must be read.

Audition for a memory in someone else's
Mind's eye.
His 300-series BMW, his faux humble talk
Of real estate and doctors.
He'd bet me if my life was stranger than his
He would pick up the tab.
He did.

But I'm not sure he should have.
Because I think we broke even, merely
By both showing up.

Sunday I went to church with my mother,
She'd guilted me into going, I had no choice.
I sat there and realized why I no longer
Go to church, and it was good.
Because once in a while I still ask myself.

And I bought a pair of shoes.

WHAT PAUL MEANT

I met an angel
in an elevator
recently.

I don't think so
because his face
was sweet or
lit by an
inner
light...
(it wasn't, so much)

But because we stood alone
between Four and Eight
while he read
the newspaper.

At the Ninth Floor
he folded the day's news
under his elbow
and offered me
a parcel.

"?"
I insisted.

"I've been holding this
for you.
I think you're ready to use it."

Would you have guessed
angels dug Westerberg?

Wouldn't have figured
the elevator
either,
tho'...