On that September Morn
She left her boyfriend alone
It was his day off you see
She worked in the big city

He awoke to find the coffee
She left for him like always
Trying to be on time
she is running through the hallways

Finally at the metro station
Her brow full of perspiration
A hot September Morn
The temperature was the conversation.

He’s awake now sitting at the window.
Coffee, croissant, and the morning news
Outside his high-rise city views
Just another Tuesday, above the Hill Street Blues

Now she’s at her office
Coffee-stained dress
She rushes to the bathroom.
To clean away the mess.

His last sip of coffee
And a shadow covers the cup.
Huge engines roar close by
nose to glass he looks up

Her meeting due to start now
She thinks of him and texts
“Maybe we should get married
Because Baby you’re the best”

He drops his coffee cup
As he witnesses the darkest dream
A nightmare of proportions
that never have been seen

As her text reached his phone
The plane struck her room
He could see the building ignite
In a red and orange plume .

Helpless to save her
Cold his coffee – his heart was torn
A marriage undone
That September Morn

Poem & Painting – Laurence Meehan