Love & Luck

I believe in the haphazard.

No, I haven’t surrendered

To that, but I do believe.

Take life, that drag

Through muck of tedium,

A rare jig, if one’s lucky.

I met her at a party

With too many guests,

She sat alone at a table.

I too sat alone (that’s not new,

So I did not think of luck)

Not at her table, but I got there.

You can guess the rest.

Movies, music, war and love  

We talked, from nine to three.

I took her to her place

And left with the promise

To have breakfast together,

The next Sunday, at the café

Near the church, where lovers meet

For sin, I mean, for appam and stew.

She knew what I meant

And brought a chaperon,

It was a tight fit at the table for two.

A quiet smiling character;

With no talk of movies, music, war

Or love, from nine to three;

We shared appam and stew (the other had something).

She made me aware of blue balls and red roses.

A tight fit it was, of lust, love & luck.