Oh, The Times...Ii Poem by Morgan Michaels

It was about the time he cancelled his subscription that Donnie met Marilyn. Oddly, she worked for Times on-line edition, in charge of subscriptions. They met downtown at a book fair, over a volume of Durer wood cuts. It was practically love at first sight.

'Have you a favorite'? Donnie asked.

'The one about Saint Jerome', she thought, which was propitious, because Donnie's middle name was Jerome.

'I like the story', she explained, 'and I like the little lion'.

They went across the street for coffee and Donnie described his use of the editorial section. Hearing it, she buried her face in her elbow and shook with obscure laughter. But,

'I believe in re-cycling', she conceded, practically crying.

Donnie, who found nothing to laugh, was mystified.

They began to date in earnest. He learned she was a career woman and detested children. Encouraged, he asked if she liked Broadway musicals.

She laughed exactly the way she did before and replied

'They're all right- for kids'.

Further mystification. Donnie enjoyed musicals, when in the mood, especially the old ones.

'They knew what they were doing, then', he told himself.

During his piano-bar days he discovered the importance of knowing words, so he bought the recording of 'Little Shop Of Horrors' and learned the lyric to 'Suddenly, Seymour' in case he ever had to sing a duet.

'For kids'? he asked.

There it was, again.

'Yeah, kids', she replied.

'You don't believe in the biblical injunction to increase and multiply'?

She laughed, as if she found the idea quaint, and, looking at him pitifully, shook her head, smoothly.

'I think the world's populated enough, don't you? Can't we get over that'?

Donnie neither agreed nor disagreed, but found her questions intriguing.

'Well, what DO you like', he asked.

She thought, as if she found the question a weighty one.

'Um, travel'.

'Me, too', cried Donnie. Here, they were on the same page.