She was beyond beautiful,
my kind of beautiful…
could've been Bianca Jagger's sister.
I got the feeling
the reason she sidled up next to me
was solely for protective,
not romantic, purposes.
We started a discussion about
old black and white movies.
She said she would've walked Gregory Peck's dog through a minefield.
I told her I would've had Rita Hayworth's baby.
In fact, my first born child
will be named Rita,
even if it's a boy.
I could tell she admired my dedication.
Next we discussed deal makers and deal breakers
for potential dates/mates.
I pointed to a Budweiser advertisement
with some ripped blonde surfer-type and asked,
"What about him?"
She said, "It's hard to tell because I can turn off the sexy."
"Turn off the sexy?"
"Yeah, I can just ignore the six-pack abs,
the Hollywood smile, the chiseled jaw line
and that mischievous twinkle in his blue eyes.
I can nullify the physical
so my attraction to him would
be based purely on his actions, emotions,
I told her I admired her stance
in regard to transcending the physical.
It seemed like a noble and realistic approach.
She wrote down her phone number
on my palm with an eyeliner pencil -
then she steamrolled through
a twenty minute diatribe
about some scientist in Germany
who had grafted Walt Disney's frozen head
onto Eva Braun's body and
the result was
a new ambisextrous UberGod
who would judge
the living and the dead
and its kingdom would have no end.
I decided to get off a few stops early.
I woke up the next afternoon
with a slightly smeared,
phone number on my palm.
She answered after the third ring.
"I'm surprised to hear from you!
Especially after you
called me a 'friggin' deranged crackpot
before you got off the train."
"Yeah, well I guess
I just can't
like you can."