Key West The Newspaper

Hanging Around

I haunt the old place,
like any fool,
chin up, head high,
charming, debonair
as I watch my glass
of ginger-ale
grow warm, and then go stale.
I catch my breath
at your silhouette
when I forget
that I can’t as yet.
So I pretend
in front of friends:
no one’s aware
this is the end
of our affair.
Only fools
could think
I cared.

Kirby Congdon