An Alternate Romeo

At first he sings enthusiastically,
drunk on love and wine,
sure she is inside, just barely asleep,
sure to waken if he is simply ardent enough.

But then he begins to believe something else,
that she is deep in her slumber,
perhaps worn from the long days
of festivals and distractions.

Or, he begins to wonder. She is dead.
or at least dead to him, her affections less,
or perhaps evaporated all together
but without the nerve to tell him,
waiting on the other side of the window
for his voice to grow hoarse,
and go away.

Given enough time, he might think she has fled,
no longer able to stand his baritone drone.
Perhaps alone. Perhaps in the arms of another
and beyond the window
there is no one to hear.

Just as dawn breaks, so does his heart.
He imagines her just beyond the curtains,
hand over her mouth like a Rennaisance coquette,
laughing at his foolish persistence.

Sooner or later he leaves. They always do,
even when they stay.

About this poem

A poem for everyone who feels unheard. I used the Romeo metaphor after seeing an iron balcony from my train window just outside Delaware. Funny what inspires us.

Tom