13 of 87

by C. L. Craven

"On The Roof"

He said all he wanted was a bit of fresh air.
I sat waiting on that uncomfortable chair.
His friends stood around me just waiting to see,
If he would return and would they get lucky.

An hour had passed and the picture was clear.
It was his intentions to leave me sitting there.
Angry and heading sraight for the door,
A strong arm pulled me on to the dance floor.

Good looking and fine and all the right moves,
His best friend, of course, knew how to groove.
We danced and we talked and he asked me to stay.
I paused for a moment but then said, "Okay".

The next day my date called to say, "Hi".
I wanted to punch him right in the eye.
I held my tongue and acted aloof.
He said he was sorry he'd gone up to roof.

I told him the next time
He wanted fresh air,
He should go to the roof
And jump off from up there.

He hung up!

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Poetry: Fresh air

by C. L. Craven

Poetry: Fresh air

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