Friday, May 18, 2018

"Blind Date" by John C. Mannone

Blind Date
John C. Mannone
             Baltimore 1967

At a mixer in an all-girls college up the road
from where I went, I met a beautiful coed:

                 short sassy blond
                 hair, brown eyes,
                 athletic, feminine.

We danced to a live band most the night under stars
glinting off the faceted mirror ball above the dance floor.
"Blip" Watercolor on Paper
By J. Artemus Gordon

That gold colored fixture spun a little faster than a slow
dance, its sexy red lights changing to green then blue,
bathed our faces too.

                 When I kissed her
                  goodnight, I knew
                  I’d want to taste those
                  supple lips again.
                  She invited me
                  to another date.

Funny thing, though, she wanted me to do her
a favor and take her lonely friend to a junior prom.

I wasn’t used to blind dates, especially dress-up
ones, but reluctantly agreed. She was a pretty girl,

                 a quiet blond, large
                 hazel eyes, blush rose
                 cheeks; feminine

in her full-figured gown; nice smile. I suppose
she was as nervous as I. We danced to the band,

talked about our futures. She wanted to be a nurse,
I, a doctor. And of course, we talked about the weather.

                 When I kissed her
                  goodnight, I knew
                  she was too innocent.
                  She invited me in
                  to her car for a ride
                  to the lake or park.

I kissed her again, told her to make out
the details of her dreams until they’re reality.

And I went home to work on mine. I never
saw either one of those two girls again.

Poet's Notes: Relationships are like a dance, sometimes elegant and smooth, sometimes wild and jerky. The structure has long flowing melodic lines as if in a waltz, punctuated by short enjambed lines to a different more jazzy rhythm to echo this.

I had a nostalgic moment thinking about my college days (Loyola College, Baltimore). Much of this “coming-of-age” poem is true, but I took some liberties.

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