Pinky Ring

We go out back
in boxers that we might
or might not wear to bed
after one too many
gin-and-tonics
and an episode of
"The Sopranos" that's finally poignant.
Barefoot we walk
through the stained glass door
at the back of her Victorian's hallway
to sit upon a bench
made of plywood
that her landlord
built for the ad.
A plane passes overhead
while traffic hums
through the bridge to her left.
I finish my smoke first
since I do and she doesn't.
She passes me the rest of hers
asking, "Do you want this?"
Yes, I want this.