To the waiter who frequented the table
Where a man and I were dining,
Bringing us water and refilling our wine glasses,
Asking about the taste and the quantity and
If the plates could be removed,
I saw your eyes, behind the dark-rimmed glasses.
You are my age and handsome.
An older man, bald and conservative
Grabs my hand and holds it.
His eyes soften as they peer into mine
Wondering if I will choose him.
But your eyes examine me too,
Size me up as unfit for this man:
Thirty something and still youthful, beautiful,
Too smart to be with a balding conservative,
Too courageous.
I should be with a hipster like you,
I suppose.
Someone wearing worn jeans,
And soft button up shirts
Loosely tucked and gently cinched
With a belt sporting a crafty buckle,
Something artful that demonstrates you have a soul.
Someone with dark-rimmed glasses
Like the ones from which your eyes appear.
But I find no judgment in them.
Your dark eyes, like caves I should run through
Could I escape this posturing dinner,
This miss-matched date,
Look at me sadly.
Two doors.
With paned glass.
I see my reflection.
I wonder if I look sadly back.
Instead,
My eyes,
Hoping not to be caught in lingering gazes,
Dart to the man who sits next to me
A nice man, sensible, frugal,
Divorced only once.
We finish dinner, which was delicious!
The wine bottle emptied, the bill paid,
We stand to leave, and I think I am free
Until we pass you standing behind the bar, and
You call out to us to have a nice evening
And our eyes lock again,
Mine with yours,
And I realize I am not free.
I try not to look at what you are showing me,
But I see.
And I watch myself leaving the restaurant
Further entangled than I intended to be
And the eyes of the man with the inquisitive love
Are joyful now, glazed, and will lead me to his car
And to my house
Where I will let him make love to me too quickly,
And I will wake up sad and stuck.
Have a nice evening, you say.
We will, my date answers for me,
And I try to smile at you
(To tell you it will be all right)
As I am pulled away from your eyes
Pleading with me to leave,
But I’m not sure I manage it.
I turn away from your open, beckoning eyes,
And my date and I leave through the front door.
