My final year, I made it to the prom.
A gorgeous date, and us dressed to the nines;
Our preparation: storms before the calm
That came when we escaped the tight confines

Of family photos, boutonnière, corsage;
Of moms and dads and family persiflage.
And as out of the car I took her hand
We entered into that strange unknown land

Of lights and music, perfume and desire,
Of bodies, hearts and hopes and passage rites;
We two together, starting our small fire
Two nascent stars that never made the heights

And even though for me, she was not right
I loved her
And I’m grateful
For that night

Published by

Beleaguered Servant

Owen Servant is an online poet working in a style that's been described as "compulsive". In real life, he is an actuary, because being a poet wasn't unpopular enough.

2 thoughts on “Prom”

  1. I was amazed I made it there, given (a) I’d just started dating that (school) year, and (b) I was an obnoxious git who could barely stand himself.

    But what girl can resist a homely narcissist who can’t dance at prom time?

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