by Ryan Clark
I sit at the table, staring into
the concave reflection of a spoon
to see if I have anything stuck
in my teeth.
I can’t really tell.
I stop thinking about it
when you walk through the door,
that slinky black dress holding tight
to every one of your curves.
You give a shy smile,
my heart gives a flutter.
I pull your chair for you
and quickly, we dive for cover
behind large menus.
What’ll you have? I ask
and you respond with an
Everything looks so good.
We order something, but I can’t stop
watching your hands, long and
slender, classy – like Jackie O hands.
You butter your bread.
You smile and the world stops.
Could it be – maybe? – the best
first date ever?
Your eyes wander, so I attempt
conversation. What classes
are you taking?
You shift in your seat and answer
quietly, something about chemistry
and art. Ah, art, I say, hoping to impress
you with my knowledge. I speak of
Albrecht Durer and praying hands and
signing with an A and a D.
You say you learned all that from
The Da Vinci Code sequel.
I think you’re joking. You’re not.
Dan Brown is a favorite author of yours,
second only to Nicholas Sparks.
I cough, choking on my salad.
I hate Dan Brown.
I hate Nicholas Sparks.
How about Hemingway? I say.
Too boring.
Faulkner?
Too confusing.
I sigh. It goes this way with every topic.
Travel: I go anywhere,
you’re a homebody.
Hobbies: I hunt and fish,
you’re a member of PETA.
Sports: I play softball.
You play Scrabble, and you tell me
it’s a sport – for the mind.
We make our way to music,
and –Eureka! – we have a connection.
We both love Def Leppard.
Whether it’s the one-armed drummer
or the true meaning of the lyrics
to “Pour Some Sugar On Me,”
we make it through dinner with
this one thing in common:
We
rock
the Def.
And, as it turns out,
that is enough to get by.
After dinner I walk you
to your door, and I lean in
for a kiss. So what if we have
nothing in common?
Your hair smells like coconut.
You are still wearing that dress.
I still want to be invited in.
Out of the corner of my eye
you smile, and offer one of those
beautiful hands. You ask
if I’d like to come up for a while.
Why yes, yes I would.
Who cares if you’re PETA
and I’m the NRA?
I know one thing:
When the morning comes,
and I search for something to say,
no matter what,
we’ll always have Def Leppard.