dinner at eight

she insists on dinner
despite having never met,
having never talked on
the phone, having never
stood within inches of
one another, or having a
clue about who or what each
other is all about, and
yet the persistence to
get a table, to make
reservations and to plan
a meal together, as if
we were both old friends,
or lovers, or something
else entirely that i'm
missing continues through
communication. finally
a flurry of e mails confirms
the date, but i hedge on
dinner and i say no, let's
meet just for a drink, a
drink the first time and go
from there, she says ok,
and i wait, i wait and
i wait, and she doesn't
show. insulted that i would
not feed her sight unseen.
she writes that she is
dinner worthy and would not
be humiliated, to be judged
in her mind, in such
a way, ah, there is a
sadness in the world that
goes beyond the depth
of any cold ocean.