Could we duplicate the way it all went down,
the way our troubled frowns turned up
Sammy’s was serendipity. Sammy’s was a sigh
of relief, a place for seven to sit and exhale, talk
well of the twinkled lights and sparked promise
we had just witnessed.
So seven slightly grumpled, rumpled
souls walked across a courtyard,
and into an opportunity.
A waiter, shepherding a shift for a coworker
whose husband is sparring with cancer.
cooks, trying to get through
one last late shift before having
one day off to breathe.
A single mama and her jammied sweet
son at a nearby table, sharing
our cotton candy delight.
Her check paid
We left laughing,
my Daddy’s wallet quite a bit
poorer, each of our hearts
spilled over in sticky,
Written for Poets United.