With some trepidation, I advance
On Catharine’s crimson door,
A suitor. Am I suitable? I fear
Her answer will be, “No.” I don’t
Arrive by private car or cab.
I had to take the bus. I bear no
Romeo’s bouquet. I wouldn’t
Say my clothes are shabby, but they
Don’t impress the way an ebony
Tuxedo would. I’ll knock. I’ll see
If I can charm, and, when I’m certain
That I haven’t, I’ll make my retreat.