His name was meant
for someone three times his age.
Someone who reaches into
the pocket of his sweater
for little hard candies,
amidst games of shuffleboard
and canasta.
I would have never pegged him
for a Walter or a Leonard.
(Wait, was it Larry?)
But then again,
the way he
sweet talked me into
his bed that night,
I would've never expected to
wake up alone
the next morning.
A post-it note balancing delicately
on the indentations of his pillow;
*Had to go to work. Nice meeting you, doll.