“Kieran’s grin didn’t waver as he explained, “I’m not a darling type of guy, pumpkin.”“Well, I’m not a pumpkin type of girl, darling,” Jenny shot back.”

“She grinned at me. 'You got types?''Only you darling - lanky brunettes with wicked jaws.”

“Well, darling, don't your worry your pretty little head. I've got a type, and you ain't it.”

“And besides . . . I don’t want to leave you. Er, you guys.”He smiled, and it lit up his whole face. “Well, ‘we’ are certainly happy to hear that. Oh, and I’m also happy to watch our darling little love child dragon while you’re in St. Louis.”I grinned back.”

“I’m the type of girl, When you fall in love,You fall forever.”

“I,” I’ll type. And that will be enough.Then there are the other days, when nothing is enough. The poem grins. It grins because it knows it is a terrible poem. It grins in embarrassment. It grins in pity. It grins in superiority. I may be a terrible poem, it grins, but at least I have one comfort. At least I’m not a terrible poet. At least I’m not the guy who sat in front of a typewriter for two hours coming up with the likes of me.”