Her last name was Music
and she hit home runs.
I was fortunate to encounter
her often in my rooms.
I avoided the sing-songy
in her presence, but jokes opened doors.
The college had athletes.
It was the poets who tended to be bores.
I took her sporty nature in stride,
letting her know poetry was eating me up inside.
She had opinions on everything,
which I liked in a girl.
When intellectual disputes fused
I knew I couldn’t fail.
She told me open form in poetry
really meant tone-deaf.
I laughed. Was she for real?
I loved. I held my breath.