predetermination can bite my ass

A mile from here on the School Street bridge
a young man is jogging by thinking of his girl
sleeping in his bed on Walker Street
her long brown hair and olive skin washing
over his sheets like a fat mooned tide

Every step is ecstasy for him,
the sunlight on his face and sweat in his armpits
the taut tingle of his thighs regals him
with hymns of health and hope

Perhaps,
when he gets home she will awake
and they will make love in the first rays of April

or
Perhaps,
there will be a note
"I'll call you after lunch, love you

• me"

Either way his heart will break.