Suited, Suitable, Stood Up

What is the point of this, of pacing
Back and forth beside the settee in
This sitting room? The woman who
I sought is gone. Her parents say
She should be here, her father glumly
Watching movies, trying not to think
Of me, or her, her mother droning
On. “We thought she would be
Married now. Her sisters were,”
But are they happy? “That is
Neither here nor there. What
Matters is they've settled down,”
While she, the last (to my chagrin),
Is out all night, and doing who
Can say with who could ever know.
Her parents said she'd warm to me,
But, somehow, she is unimpressed
By where I work and what I earn.
I've come to make her life secure,
But she is bent on having fun. I
Pace. I know she won't be home.
I wish she would have taken me,
But she has learned that what I offer
Are the sorts of things her parents told
Her that she ought to have, and, she,
Without much use for those, no longer
Deigns to meet with me. She's asked
Herself, what is the point?, and sees
There isn't one.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 16 times
Written on 2011-09-22 at 13:09

dott Save as a bookmark (requires login)
dott Write a comment (requires login)
dott Send as email (requires login)
dott Print text