Once More with Feeling

What a blockhead.
Nor could it be ascribed to age,
Having performed similar feats years earlier.
My mind, it seems, fails to see the obvious.

I wonder if Doctor Watson had a first name.
I seem to be playing that role.
Without the aid of a Sherlock Holmes.
Of course, it might have been worth the $18 bucks.

As I exit the parking garage
There is a knock on the passenger window.
A lady wants to talk.
She has a problem.

It concerns a car starter.
Triple A came and pronounced it “unstartable”.
Now lady and elderly mother are stuck.
No money, wallet left at home.

As I leave my car to offer help.
She calls to someone out of my sight range,
“The good gentleman will help”.
It seems she needs $15

That will get her to a train and home.
Continuing my Watsonian role,
I hand her the $15,
How could I leave them stranded?

Adding a beautiful touch, her need increases.
The bus to the train costs $1.50 each.
(That’s a 20% tip for a superior performance)
She is most grateful, and offers her name.

She notes my name and address.
She will send the money.
Finally, having done the good deed,
I restart my car and head home.

I never saw her mother, the poor thing,
Never saw any personal identification, or her car.
Was she really at a supermarket without any money?
Was there really a bull’s-eye on my forehead?

Do not take pity on me,
Although laughter, at my expense, seems appropriate.
But I reflect upon the acting,
Those wonderful touches.

She’d been the lead performer
In a one act play.
Having written the play she set the stage.
Perhaps the script needed a little work.

What of my part?
Did I not play it flawlessly?
Maybe this was an interview
For a retake of a Holmes and Watson adventure?

Think, seeing a great performance,
Playing second lead in a drama filled with pathos,
Paying a mere $18 for such an experience.
Surely, if I don’t have brain surgery, I’d do it again.