The Professor Meets His Match

A dance club isn't where I'd choose to meet, But it was your first choice, so I agreed. And you are even prettier than your picture. Maybe the light? That little blue dress suits you— Are those sequins or just your natural glitter? Although it's not much like the fireworks And circus costumes all these kids are wearing. You are Titania, here amid these flowers. The music hums like some dark industry From some far galaxy, where life is different, And undersea volcanoes supply power To laser furnaces engraving glyphs On indestructible metallic objects Which then are hurled into the infinite Where blackness glimmers with other dimensions. As you approach me, I feel warm and happy, As if tomorrow were the first of summer. I see your eyebrows rise when you see me. Your pupils grow a little larger, blacker, Inviting as the open summer windows That led to rambles under swirling stars When I would sneak out, rambling in the orchards. You look into my left eye, then my right, Then at my mouth. You watch the way I talk. You look a little warm. I see the way you're blushing. It is as if you were suffused with light, You stroke your arm, your face, with one hand, softly, The way a cat seems to enjoy itself, Making a luxury of self-awareness. I notice how your shoulders squarely face me. We both reach for our drinks at the same time, And somehow this turns out to be quite funny. I touch my hair, helpless not to be nervous And notice that you're touching yours as well, But you seem just to like the texture. You have my full attention. You don't look Around the room to see who notices. And if I try to look away, you stop me, Pleading for my attention, gently, firmly, With how you modulate the oboe tones Your voice makes with its melodies. You say you want me to ask you to dance. And, oh, I want to, but I know I'll fail.

I tell you that I can't—my gimpy leg. But I insist you go ahead with someone, Go have your fun—don't worry about me. You do. And somehow it does not matter Whom you are dancing with. The music has you. You're lost in it, except you sometimes glance At me, to make sure that I've not stopped watching. And sometimes you get carried away, Swaying and turning like a happy dolphin, Really very sexy. I feel stupid, Inadequate. I wish I'd never come. The music dies. I figure that I've lost you. I start a conversation with some woman That I'm not interested in, to cover My ignominious retreat. The crowds are murmuring around us. Their conversations sound like squawking gulls, Fighting over the carrion on the beach. And suddenly, you're there, almost between us, And I feel like you must be feeling sorry For me, which makes me want to run away, When you ask me if I'm having a good time. You wonder what I think about this scene— Is it completely alien to me? So I point out some friends of mine are here, And while I'm not delighted at the prospect Of having witnesses to my debacle, And since I have, and you say, “Introduce me!” I can't ignore them. So I introduce them To you, and you to them. You seem to like them, And how could they not want to be near you? And as the music's coming up again, And one of them says something to me unheard, I have to lean in just to make it out, And you say something to one of the others. I wonder what you're saying? I'm distracted. It brings a laugh out of a guy I'd thought Was my good friend. Am I the only male You're not going to give some pleasure to? That's it. I've had it. “I'm going home,” I say. “I'd rather watch TV than play this game.” My friends realize I don't have a TV, And I'm just being a curmudgeon now.

You pull my arm and whisper in my ear. “I hope that you were planning to take me. Sex and the City's on, and it's my favorite.”