Monday, April 4, 2011

Perfect Rendezvous

Another poem - you still are not allowed to laugh.

"Perfect Rendezvous"

She was supposed to meet me at 10:30
She didn't
I knew she wouldn't
but I spent my money
and showed up
and waited
because I knew she wouldn't
and I like being right

She was supposed to meet me
the next night
She didn't
She was supposed to meet me
in New York
She didn't
She was supposed to meet me
at the altar
She didn't

I showed up
I waited
because I like being right

I'm always right
it's easy
when everybody else
isn't me
and their words
could be folded up
like paper airplanes
and sent into the breeze
blowing around
with leaves and spiders
and other things
that carry no weight
except poison

She was supposed to meet me again
I think it was tonight
or tomorrow
or yesterday
I don't remember
It doesn't matter
maybe she can spend some money
and show up
and wait

Then I could do her the favor
of making her feel
like she was right
everybody deserves
to be right
for once
but that isn't her
because she isn't me
and she can't make
a promise
worth keeping
or an explanation
I'd ever believe

so somewhere tonight
a table will stay empty
a waiter won't get annoyed
with my complicated order
and a busboy
won't have to mop up
a spilled glass of wine
and other patrons
won't be annoyed
by an obnoxious
she'll get to stay at home
making up stories
I'll stay at home
waiting to hear them

she won't have
to apologize this time
because somewhere
there is a table
that stayed empty
and quiet
where two people
never appeared
and a perfect
was finally

at a table somewhere
and quiet
like me

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