The ride back home was dark and lonely,
It started cold.
The hood on his coat helped a little
but it blocked his side vision,
He pushed it off as soon as the car warmed up.
He’d forgotten to wave when he pulled out of the driveway
and the thought of her waiting at the window
watching him go without so much as a glance
He wanted to call to apologize
but didn’t, and this depressed him more.
Then he thought,
Hey, this is the beginning of a short story
not a poem.
This depressed him even more.
He knew he’d never write the short story.
Image links to its source on Wiki Commons
"Unter den Linden mit Blick auf das Brandenburger Tor, 1920er Jahre": Lesser Ury, c. 1920, public domain