Oct 2014
Two people walk into a bar:
A woman, early twenties, permed-up, puffed-out hair
Horn-rimmed glasses thicker than coke bottle bottoms
Fresh out the ivory tower eager to learn eager to become who she needs to be
Parlez-vous français? She does,
Her tongue speeding over conjugated verbs
Flying effortlessly through another language, she is ready
To move to Paris, la ville de l’amour,
The City of Lights, the City of Untold Possibilities
She is ready, she thinks,
To fall in love.
A man, earlier twenties, close-cropped, clean-shaven hair
Sea-green eyes and 20/20 vision-placid ocean
Fresh out Basic Training eager to act eager to become who he needs to be
Do you read me, Sir? He does,
His spine rigid from standing straight and tall,
Hand crooked at his forehead in an involuntary salute, he is ready
To build fighter jets with his oil-stained hands
To build a life for himself with his carpenter’s fingers
To build a house on the stability he thrives in
He is ready, he thinks,
To let someone in.
Two people walk into a bar:
A man, an Army graduate, an old soul
A woman, a College graduate, a kind soul
Guitar riffs floating from the jukebox drift through the air,
Playing the background music for newfoundlove story.
Two people walk into a bar:
Friends introduce them to each other,
She thinks, Those green eyes sparkle with the sun freckling his cheeks
Reddening his hair.
She thinks, Maybe he’s the one.
He thinks, That perm really works for her frames her face what a pretty smile.
He thinks, Maybe she’s the one.
Two people walk into a bar:
Sit down, have a drink,
Share some laughs, funny stories,
Break the ice with awkward questions,
Eat some food, too shy to share it
Get some drinks, guzzle liquid courage,
Dance to the jukebox buzz
Look a little silly but pretend they don’t care.
They don’t care.
Two people walk into a bar:
Maybe they leave hand-in-hand,
Maybe they hug goodbye at the door.
Maybe they think about each other and call right away.
Maybe they set up more dates, more bar trips, more laughs.
Maybe they already know that they are in love.
Two people walk into a bar:
Their history writes its own punchline.
A woman, early twenties, permed-up, puffed-out hair
Horn-rimmed glasses thicker than coke bottle bottoms
Fresh out the ivory tower eager to learn eager to become who she needs to be
Parlez-vous français? She does,
Her tongue speeding over conjugated verbs
Flying effortlessly through another language, she is ready
To move to Paris, la ville de l’amour,
The City of Lights, the City of Untold Possibilities
She is ready, she thinks,
To fall in love.
A man, earlier twenties, close-cropped, clean-shaven hair
Sea-green eyes and 20/20 vision-placid ocean
Fresh out Basic Training eager to act eager to become who he needs to be
Do you read me, Sir? He does,
His spine rigid from standing straight and tall,
Hand crooked at his forehead in an involuntary salute, he is ready
To build fighter jets with his oil-stained hands
To build a life for himself with his carpenter’s fingers
To build a house on the stability he thrives in
He is ready, he thinks,
To let someone in.
Two people walk into a bar:
A man, an Army graduate, an old soul
A woman, a College graduate, a kind soul
Guitar riffs floating from the jukebox drift through the air,
Playing the background music for newfoundlove story.
Two people walk into a bar:
Friends introduce them to each other,
She thinks, Those green eyes sparkle with the sun freckling his cheeks
Reddening his hair.
She thinks, Maybe he’s the one.
He thinks, That perm really works for her frames her face what a pretty smile.
He thinks, Maybe she’s the one.
Two people walk into a bar:
Sit down, have a drink,
Share some laughs, funny stories,
Break the ice with awkward questions,
Eat some food, too shy to share it
Get some drinks, guzzle liquid courage,
Dance to the jukebox buzz
Look a little silly but pretend they don’t care.
They don’t care.
Two people walk into a bar:
Maybe they leave hand-in-hand,
Maybe they hug goodbye at the door.
Maybe they think about each other and call right away.
Maybe they set up more dates, more bar trips, more laughs.
Maybe they already know that they are in love.
Two people walk into a bar:
Their history writes its own punchline.
This is a poem about my parents' first meeting, inspired by the CAMP prompt. They are one of the first examples I have of what true love looks like, so this is for them. The spacing is weird, so I'll work on that in a bit.
