6:15 PM Union Square

 6:15 PM 
 Union Square
 a black-hooded guy,
 exuding youthful  sincerity,
 approached a kinda pretty girl
 sitting next to me;
 aquiline nose, runway thin,
 wearing black leather boots
 with gold studs in circular patterns.
 
 with sweet-faced
 I'm-not-a-con man subtext,
 he talked of being an artist
 interested in drawing people's
 faces;
 
 may I draw your pretty face?
 
 yes, of course, she said.
 
 with a black marker he began to
 work, never taking his eyes off her,
 asking her personal questions of small
 consequence, the attention 
 being all.
 
 where are you from? 
 any brothers and sisters?
 where do you work?
 
 while sketching her eyes, hair, lips, nose.
 
 outline finished he sat down on the bench
 and filled in details,
 first with a yellow highlighter,
 then a red marker.
 
 the questions continued,
 bourbon smooth.
 she seemed intoxicated.
 
 the drawing wasn't very good,
 didn’t matter,
 his moves were.
 
 on the back of the portrait he wrote:
 Kara & Mookie 4/21/14
 Which he outlined with a red heart.
 
 she took the drawing, thanked him,
 folded it, put in her
 pocketbook, then got up.
 
 without any negotiation,
 she left with him,
 not arm-in-arm,
 but nudging him
 with her shoulder.
 
 the smoothest pickup
 I've ever witnessed.
 
 it seemed too easy,
 
 and I couldn't help
 but think that within
 the next hour
 someone's heart was
 going to get broken.