I always thought roses would have been nice,
great, mysterious boxes of them
delivered to my door,
but I am older now
and realize that roses are extravagant after all.
I’ve had my days
of sitting dreamy-eyed at lunches with the girls
while they recounted their latest escapades.
Now I know better: only half of me listens
while the other half studies the menu.
I’ve been known to envy couples on street corners
entwined in each other,
but I am past that
take stock in my independence.
I’ve fantasized about dancing to waltzes,
slow, whimsical ones with lots of sax,
being whirled around an empty ballroom,
but styles have changed
and disco is the rage again.
If all be told
I’ve even craved an eloquent invitation to dinner
complete with reservations and candles,
but I have lived without it
and now find pleasure in eating alone.
As you can see
in retrospect I have managed fine,
but from time to time I have also wished
weren’t quite so beautiful.
(Photo entitled “Blanca” by John Benigno.)
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