I know I would not be invited, that is quite true….

Did I think he would follow through

With the threat of a marriage proposal

Or even bring a bunch of wild flowers

To the cafe table?

In all likelihood those tables

Decorated by  the next of kin

For the voracious eyes of the derelict and super-lonely

Over a dishpan filled Tupperware glasses

Next to a jade jar of celebratory roses

You proposed last July, wasn’t it

And then you died.

Everything now

Sanctified through

Hand me down opportunities

And second hand clothes

Decreed from the territory

Of unmapped fields

And unploughed furrows

Such childhood tests of elocutionary memories

At best discarded once and for all.

So what do I do now?

What do I know?

Are wisdom’s eyes fully dulled

And shut down? All I know is this:

It takes so long to court a poem

Prosperous in the time of love

Rendered poor before old age and its adagio

And I haven’t a dime in my dotage.