not even a cup of coffee

he would't even buy her a cup of coffee
the morning after
she lost her job and he stood her up on their
first date.
he apologized, the steam from his peppermint tea
rising up to meet his refined nose,
fogging his glasses.
they were horn-rimmed, of course, in the
newest style, narrow, dark, solid arms
adorned with gold fleur de lys.
she didn't have her purse with her, a typical
female thing to never carry money,
we always figure he has a wallet and
knows how to use it.
how awkward to not know each other
one cup of tea between them, a single job,
a wet raincoat and umbrella hanging
from the arm of his chair.
the hurricane was coming on strong now,
waves crashing against the pier outside.
this was not warm and cozy.
she picked up her book and walked out
into the storm
at least a book can act as an umbrella
for the first few steps towards freedom.