Free Lights Out by Ruthie Robinson

them together in front of her chest in a prayer-like pose.
    Applause sounded. Well, apparently she was done, Joe thought, looking around the room, taking in the pleased expressions on the faces of those present. He totally missed that one.
    “Wasn’t that great?” Rachel asked.
    “Yep.”
    “I’d better get in line,” she said, getting up and walking to stand behind a man with pink-colored dreads.
    This is going to be a long night, he thought, rubbing his forehead again, watching as the emcee came back up and introduced Piper’s little sister, Kennedy. She was shy, walking onto the stage, child-sized employee uniform on, her paper clutched in her hand.
    “The name of my poem is My Dogs,” she said, eyes darting between her paper and the crowd, paper and the crowd, then back to the paper. “My dogs. McKenzie and Pepper,” she began, a quick peek at the audience and back to the paper. “Good dogs, loyal dogs, smart dogs. They are man’s best friend, my best friends. I love them.” She looked up at the crowd expectantly. She was done, he guessed. Applause sounded, mixed in with a few whistles, and her smile appeared and then widened on her face at the onslaught of approval from her fellow poets.
    He listened to the next two before turning his attention to Rachel as she was introduced and took to the stage. She looked like a gypsy—she was small in stature, with short, dark curly hair that fell to her shoulders.
    “I’d like to dedicate this to a wonderful man. I’ve known him for two weeks, and tonight is our third date,” she said, to cat calls and whistles of innuendo. “Don’t laugh,” she said, her eyes teasing and playful. “You know when it’s your soul mate,” she said, and began to read something about him and the night sky.
    Piper smiled, caught Joe’s eye, and laughed. He looked embarrassed. As well he should be, she thought. She wasn’t bothered that he’d brought along a date, and not really surprised. Joe was Joe. Okay, so she was bothered, but she’d told him no, she reminded herself.
    She looked at him, his attention now focused on his date, face unreadable. What could he be thinking, having some woman wax lovingly about you naked under the night sky?
    She laughed out loud at the part of the poem, a verse about the poke from your spoke giving her hope. Yikes, she thought, covering her laughter with a cough. Girlfriend, Piper wanted to tell her, that poem was not a good idea, and probably wasted on Joe.
    He turned and caught her eye and smiled. She smiled back, trying not to laugh, moving her eyes and eyebrows up in question. Did he sink lower in his chair before he shrugged at her silent question?
    It went on like that for the next hour, poets reciting, some loud, some soft, some with guitar accompaniments, some with portable keyboards, a few drums, some really long ones about the war, living free, and his personal favorite of the night, to tea or not to tea—an ode to the tea bagging community of America.
    Joe drank his coffee, waiting for a chance to leave, and finally it presented itself. The poets were taking a break. The god of the non-poetic had finally answered his prayers and he’d talked Rachel into leaving. He was sitting there waiting for her to return from the ladies’ room, pleased that he was finally getting out of there.
    Piper had been walking throughout the shop. He’d kept an eye on her, coffee carafe in her hand, refilling coffee cups, now standing next to his table.
    “Under the night sky? Really, Joe? Had I known you were all that, I’d have made time. We could have used my office; forget about going somewhere else, Mr. ‘I’ve got women writing poems in my honor,’ ” she said, one eyebrow lifted before she started to laugh.
    “Hey, you had your chance,” he said, falling into her smile.
    Both of them looked up as Rachel joined him, sliding into the seat with him, entwining her arm into his, pushing herself closer to him.
    “Nice poem,” Piper said