No stool at ATL Fish Market
   has ever been
   so fiercely guarded,
      quietly hopeful,

      or ultimately, lonely.

Work stole your night,
     and Coal called you home.
     “Too late,”
     we finally said—
     a quiet, mutual shrug

     to close another almost-date.

Another mulligan.

Probably the hundredth.

(We stopped counting long ago,
 but today’s the 9th,
 so let’s just roll with it.)

Tonight, then?
         Different stools,
               same hopes,
        fewer work emails,
                and maybe— (*finally*)

The ultimate redemption—
             A long hug,
           no countdown,
    Mari-smiles in bulk,
And that look that says: “We made it”