The best is yet to come, he’d said. But you
Think that’s down the drain now after last night.
Yet it started all right, him in a good
Mood, the bottle of wine, the food prepared,
The music low, the right week, the two kids
Away. You’d even put on the new dress
he’d bought, bright red, but a little short, but
He didn’t mind, he said it made you look
Sexier and more desirable. You
Never brought up your husband’s demise last
Year, you mentioned it on the first date, he
Just said, too bad, nothing more. You’d put your
Late husband’s photo in the drawer out of
Sight. After the wine and meal and warm shared
Conversation on the sofa and hot
Kisses and holds, you both transferred to the
Bedroom and quickly undressed and made love.
Or rather you didn’t, at least not how
You thought of it before, he treated you
Like some downtown *****, even beat you up
Once or twice or more leaving you ******,
Soaked and ******. The best is yet to come, he’d
Said the first time you met and he normal
And kind and quite the regular guy. That
Was before last night and the awful ***,
The split lip and black eye. You stare out of
The window at the rising day and the
Sunlight and think of better days before
Last night and the fall from grace. No more of
That, no more of him, no more of that ****.
You won’t see him anymore, the *******
You don’t care for him no more, not one bit.
AN OLD POEM I UNCOVERED. HOW A DATE SHOULD NEVER BE.