Sally works on floor eleven
A runner in a PR firm
Daryl works on forty-seven
A lawyer and a partner
In Wolfman, Webb and Stern
No social circle overlaps
No likelihood they'll meet
No passing bump out on the street
Sally knows she must try harder
If handsome Daryl she wants to capture
In this task she'll not be daunted
She's the hunter
He the hunted
Every day at half past eight
Never early never late
Daryl strides across the lobby
Carrying his briefcase
A coffee and a paper
He joins the queue and waits
For an elevator
To take him where he works
Up in the clouds
Inside the tinted-glass skyscraper
He's smartly dressed
Expensive suit
Button down shirt
Designer shoes
Every short cut hair in place
Fully shaven, square jawed face
Sally keeps an eye out for Daryl
Hoping to get up close
But she knows it won't be easy
It's not her first time that she's tried
To overcome
The morning rush hour scrum
And slip in side by side
Yet today's the day
That Sally gets lucky
For this fleeting moment
Their bodies touching
Caught in the crush
From floor to floor she hears his breathing
Smells his scent
Until at floor eleven
From the elevator
She is leaving
In a dream
Sally knows she was not noticed
There's too much competition
Golden tresses
Power dresses
Soft touch lips
Nubile hips
And Daryl's reputation
A bridge she cannot cross
Welcome now on stage
Young Sally the detective
A female Sherlock Holmes
Who in her head
A bio carries
Of Daryl Wendel Jones
A *** purri of facts and fiction
He of New York born and bred
A Harvard education
The line of well connected ladies
Taken to his bed
I really find it hard to say
Just when Sally lost her way
And her initial mild attraction
Became a dark obsession
Daryl walks through Central Park
A latte in his hand
Off to meet a client
A lunch appointment scheduled
At the Tavern On The Green
And Sally follows close behind
Carefully unseen
I've seen her twice at Rosie Singer
Where in detention
She resides
On Rikers Island
I a saddened friend
A comfort bringer
She the accused
Forced to linger
Awaiting trial
Two blocks down from where he works
There's a cafe
Buns and Perks
With seats inside and out
Daryl loves their dark roast coffee
With full fat milk it's rich and frothy
He's found a seat out in the sun
An oasis in the tide
Of New York's finest passing by
It's times like this that calm the soul
When making money's not the goal
But he won't stay here much longer
The pull of clients getting stronger
Then as he takes that one last sip
A woman on the pavement trips
And falls down at his feet
Daryl rises, picks her up
Offers her his seat
No sign of cuts or bruises
A waitress brings a glass of water
They linger at the table talking
Sally's clever plan is working
The way to love beginning
I could tell the full sad story
A blow by blow account
Of unrequited love
That ends in jealous fury
Suffice to say
A fairy tale this is not
No Cinderella in the plot
Just another tragic sonnet
Predictably pathetic
Of love's labours lost
For more great poems check out
grumpyoldpoet.blogspot.com
Mar 1
Mar 1, 2026 at 4:31 AM UTC
Sally works on floor eleven
A runner in a PR firm
Daryl works on forty-seven
A lawyer and a partner
In Wolfman, Webb and Stern
No social circle overlaps
No likelihood they'll meet
No passing bump out on the street
Sally knows she must try harder
If handsome Daryl she wants to capture
In this task she'll not be daunted
She's the hunter
He the hunted
Every day at half past eight
Never early never late
Daryl strides across the lobby
Carrying his briefcase
A coffee and a paper
He joins the queue and waits
For an elevator
To take him where he works
Up in the clouds
Inside the tinted-glass skyscraper
He's smartly dressed
Expensive suit
Button down shirt
Designer shoes
Every short cut hair in place
Fully shaven, square jawed face
Sally keeps an eye out for Daryl
Hoping to get up close
But she knows it won't be easy
It's not her first time that she's tried
To overcome
The morning rush hour scrum
And slip in side by side
Yet today's the day
That Sally gets lucky
For this fleeting moment
Their bodies touching
Caught in the crush
From floor to floor she hears his breathing
Smells his scent
Until at floor eleven
From the elevator
She is leaving
In a dream
Sally knows she was not noticed
There's too much competition
Golden tresses
Power dresses
Soft touch lips
Nubile hips
And Daryl's reputation
A bridge she cannot cross
Welcome now on stage
Young Sally the detective
A female Sherlock Holmes
Who in her head
A bio carries
Of Daryl Wendel Jones
A *** purri of facts and fiction
He of New York born and bred
A Harvard education
The line of well connected ladies
Taken to his bed
I really find it hard to say
Just when Sally lost her way
And her initial mild attraction
Became a dark obsession
Daryl walks through Central Park
A latte in his hand
Off to meet a client
A lunch appointment scheduled
At the Tavern On The Green
And Sally follows close behind
Carefully unseen
I've seen her twice at Rosie Singer
Where in detention
She resides
On Rikers Island
I a saddened friend
A comfort bringer
She the accused
Forced to linger
Awaiting trial
Two blocks down from where he works
There's a cafe
Buns and Perks
With seats inside and out
Daryl loves their dark roast coffee
With full fat milk it's rich and frothy
He's found a seat out in the sun
An oasis in the tide
Of New York's finest passing by
It's times like this that calm the soul
When making money's not the goal
But he won't stay here much longer
The pull of clients getting stronger
Then as he takes that one last sip
A woman on the pavement trips
And falls down at his feet
Daryl rises, picks her up
Offers her his seat
No sign of cuts or bruises
A waitress brings a glass of water
They linger at the table talking
Sally's clever plan is working
The way to love beginning
I could tell the full sad story
A blow by blow account
Of unrequited love
That ends in jealous fury
Suffice to say
A fairy tale this is not
No Cinderella in the plot
Just another tragic sonnet
Predictably pathetic
Of love's labours lost
For more great poems check out
grumpyoldpoet.blogspot.com
