Back to Poetry Page


First Date

We have reservations, I canít use chopsticks but she doesnít mind if I spoon. Weíre through dinner and she says Iím smooth, we leave the restaurant sheís relaxed, content, the eveningís over, or so she thinks, Iím working on the courage for the upsell and with Academy Award winning method acting I casually ask " Would you like to go clubbing?" " Oh Yeah. "

Three drinks later, bathed in music we discuss the pronounciation of Psyche. I say " Either Psych or Psychee is acceptable but if you say itís Psych, thatís good enough for me."

I didnít know it beforehand but Iíve just said the right thing, her arms instantly wrap around me. She kisses my face all over up down, sideways, diagonally, other patrons stare as I bask in the spotlight of our private moment.

Itís getting late but not quite push comes to shove, time for coffee and new punters to pash in front of including the waitress, who only breaks off her running feud with the cook, to perve on us, which annoys my date.

Decision time: She says "Youíre place or mine?" and we wonder are we going too fast? "Friends can be lovers, but lovers canít be friends" I say. She replies "I donít know much but when you fuck, things change and change forever." Consequences if you do, missed opportunity if you donít. Kelpie on the footpath outside her house, yellow eyes, illuminated by streetlamp, staring; think Iím safe but I crave a little danger.

She is my escape, I hope I will never need escape_ from her.

© Pete Dowe 2002

Back to Poetry Page