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You wait in line for love.
The house is too small.
You could have waited outside, content,
Under the big tree, alone.
But you got in line with the others
So you could say hello to the host—
Love, waiting just inside the entrance.
You were eventually trapped in a small room
Sitting or standing with others, with nothing to say.
You began to enter my room, but turned away.
I took my turn, greeted by the president,
Greeting her. Some time had been spent
Thinking how I should greet her—by title,
Or simply by first name? We are more casual
These days, or so they say.
We owe our lives to law. To formal matters.
War. Peace. Land management.
Innovation. A sudden largesse.
A bored marriage. Not attractive. Bored.
No one dares. No one wants to play.
Nothing is casual, is it? Even when I,
Speaking as casually as I could,
Said to Love: “Isn’t this a beautiful day?”
