Thursday, April 17, 2014

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.

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