let me book you into my already-booked social calendar

On Friday, 
fresh-baked cacao-coconut macaroons 
sweeten a disappointing $9 Rose pour. 
Meet Banjo-named dogs 
& mandolin-maker musicians—
Big Richard (the band)
with big dick energy. 
Tell me I am pretty
in German.

On Saturday, 
be recruited by too many 
volunteer booths—
the opera, 
the museum. 
Retire 
at the renaissance fair, 
all horned-cup drunk. 
My vision is strained 
with honey mead 
& mojitos. 
Schmooze the Chinese-Peruvian stir fry 
& the other stomach sitting 
directly across from me 
at the table. 
Find a minute 
to stroke your hair
in between waves
of conversation—
I recommend surfing 
in Sagres.
Suggest something—
a sleepover? 
A second date?
You smile.

On Sunday, 
inconsistent snores 
& fifteen snooze-button multitudes.
I am the lone wolf 
of this Santa Fe River watershed, 
but carpooling saves 
a few gallons 
& gas-pump greens. 
Roll cast. 
Rollover, Howdy. 
On this bluebird day, 
appoint the dry fly 
to my Orvis wand, 
maintain a courtship 
with my chub catch. 
Biscochito sugar emulates 
the Rio Grande’s river glint. 
Meal prep. 
Muse over April 
& fools. 
Prioritize a classical pianist.
You play Chopin,
to this chopped-liver 
guitarist.
D, Am.
Two-chord truths.

Prost to Friday.
Danke Saturday.
Küssen Sunday.

Come Monday, 
I wish I wasn’t overbooked. 
I guess I’ll see you 
next weekend 
in the event 
you’re free. 

L.W.

I WANT TO SEE YOU, WHAT’S YOUR SCHEDULE LIKE? is a poem about prioritization and plans, obligations and the other things you'd rather be doing with someone special It's grabbing your calendar, booking them in, and catching a fish in the meantime.