Sunday, February 03, 2008

Poetry Friday: The Word is BIRTHDAY

I'm tardy, blahblahblah, snow day on Friday, birthday party on Saturday, Super Bowl Sunday, yaddayaddayadda, here I am.

Poetry Friday!


Here we go!

John Bailey

It was the accent.

More than anything else.

It was the way his tongue flipped words in tantric circles, smoothed out the creases of a sentence, lifted a simple question into a curvy inflection that whispered in my ear.

“Can I take you out to dinner?”

It was my 21st birthday, and John wanted to make it special.

I borrowed Julie’s favourite sweater, squirted Halston on my wrists and neck, and propped myself up on heels. John arrived at my dorm room exactly punctually precisely at the appointed time.

He was wearing a suit.

I didn’t know college guys owned suits.

John was from London.
John was well-mannered.
John was my crush.

He drove me to Fancy Restaurant. Opened all doors. Gave me his arm. He ordered a bottle of wine and for most of the meal, I sat speechless. I had never before felt like the center of someone’s attention, so pampered and special.

I smiled so much my cheeks ached.

We languished at the restaurant until they started turning off the lights. John drove us back to the dorms, turned the car off, and reached for me.

We kissed a good long while.

Then, in his gentlemanly way, he escorted me to my room.
Kissed me again.
Said goodnight.
I closed the door as he walked away.

It was much later that John and I were intimate.
for all his manners and genteel qualities,
For all his polite grace and witty dry humour,

The embarrassment embedded itself in his skin.
He blushed every time he saw me.
We were friends.
Good friends,
Just friends,
Who watched Monty Python til the wee hours
And told achingly bad jokes
And brightened when we entered a room together.

John Bailey took me out to dinner
On my 21st birthday.
John Bailey
Make me a queen
For a night.


At 8:08 AM, Blogger jo(e) said...

Oh, this is wonderful.

At 12:14 PM, Blogger Clowncar said...

True story?

Regardless, the moral is: never trust an overdressed man.

Well, maybe he was trustworthy....

Rewritten moral: never trust an overdressed man to have sex with you.

At 1:14 PM, Blogger Orange said...

Maybe John Bailey was gay.

At 6:56 PM, Blogger Irrelephant said...

Wow. Damned. Even if it's not real (and don't tell me) it's still a sweet, sad, bittersweet read.

My most humble and sincere apologies for missing not one but TWO Poetry Fridays--I am but a worm.

At 9:51 PM, Blogger ms chica said...


At 9:52 PM, Blogger patches said...

whoops! wrong log in.

still touching.


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