The evening lay before us
like her silken dress
arranged carefully over the bed.
It would be a night to remember.
We would speak of it often
in years to come. There would
be good food and wine,
cabaret, and music to dance to.
How we’d dance.
How we’d laugh.
We would kiss indiscreetly,
and what are lawns for
but to run barefoot across?
But the evening didn’t do
what it was told.
It’s the morning after now
and morningafter cold.
I don’t know what went wrong
but I blame her. After all
I bought the tickets.
Of course, I make no mention,
that’s not my style,
and I’ll continue to write
at least for a while.
I carry her suitcase down to the hall,
our first (and her last) University Ball.