The entrée is chicken marsala
accompanied by a white wine,
mushrooms, and conversation.

“So what are your plans?” she asks.

I proudly lay out the itinerary. Iceman
Cometh, followed by a carriage ride
in Central Park. We would of course
go over the bridge where we first met.
I had seen her reading the Times and
I asked her if she thought William Safire
was too much of an alarmist...

Her lips curled slightly upward and she
nodded her head as her eyes darted down.
I had given the wrong answer.

“I mean, for your future.”

Well, that should have been easy.
My father and I solidified this blueprint
when I was fifteen. After college,
Goldman Sachs. Then the Silver Rose
Country Club and the two kids
who will become expert equestrians
and scientists while at Princeton. But
I could not give her this answer.

But it’s just my imagination
running away with me.

Instead, we continued to eat our meals
or rather, she ate and I watched. The
delicate etchings around her mouth
danced in fine unison with each taste.
Tendrils from her hair cascaded down
framing her lips’ elegant movements.
I should kiss those lips. After some wine
I lean in, but was met by a peck
chaste as pink rose petals.

“I can probably guess your ambitions
dear, so let me give you some warnings.
My George, he leaves a freshly pressed
suit and a toothbrush at the office
and if we’re lucky, we spend an hour
alone, watching Law and Order re-runs.”

But it’s just my imagination
running away with me.

“I loved this song when I was little,”
she whispered. “Even in my playground
days I was the bittersweet romantic.”

“Who sings it?” I ask.

She doesn’t reply. Instead, the corners
of her mouth fall down as she takes
another drink of wine, trying to wash
the melancholy out of her throat.
I felt my own mouth fall at the sight
of her smile melting, knowing I
caused it to deteriorate.

“When you finally meet that girl,” she
starts, “make sure all the ground rules
are laid out. Marriage is not something
you do with a storybook over your eyes.”

“But you? What about this?”

Her lips regained some of their posture.
“I’ll serve my purpose. And you will
serve yours.” She took my hand in hers
and caressed it, careful that her ring
did not scrape my knuckles.
“We should finish our dinner. I am
looking forward to a lovely evening.”

04/22/2005

Author's Note: Italicized lyrics from the song "Just My Imagination" sung by the Temptations. Poem was written in response to the operetta Der Rosenkavalier by Richard Strauss (libretto by Hugo von Hofmannsthal).

Posted on 07/16/2007
Copyright © 2025 Ashley Lane