“It’s Not You. It’s Boston.”

Cheers
First association with Boston?  “Cheers,”
where everybody knows your name
(and snow piles high on basement steps).

Second association?  Alfred, the
Boston guy who orders a sandwich
named after some crusty theologian.

I cut a bagel and count back his change.
Both of us west coast transplants;
consortium students at conservative school.

And by all measurements–Alfred is hungry.

He orders a second sandwich and hands me
a note I’ll read right after I put away the
mustard and mayo. Sit down for a second.

His key point is counterproductive to my quest.
“No, thanks,” I say, “Take the short, brown-haired
girl back to Boston.”  I can’t stand the snow!

(This poem sprang from two inspiration sources:  (1) from the good old American Heritage Dictionary and (2) from yesterday’s Daily Prompt: No, Thanks Is there a place in the world you never want to visit? Where, and why not? Utilizing yesterday’s date of March 3, or 3-3-13, I selected the first and last word entries for the corresponding pages 1 and 3.  I also did so for pages 13, 31, 33, 331 and 313.  Enjoy Boston!  I really don’t hold anything against this fair city.) 

Boston (song)

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