Your music is so lovely,
I told her. Convincing.
I handed her a hundred
to set aside her violin
or tambourine
or whatever it was.
She wore a still-slinky dress,
green as grass cut yesterday.
Is this enough for ten minutes
of silence?
Okay.
I asked for some of her stories
and she made them freely,
but her pretty, worried face,
wincing and winking in the sun,
told better ones, told them better.
Ten minutes passes quickly,
so I took her home
and paid her not to love me.