I waited under cover of the moon. I waited there with 
fifteen jokers, hymnals out of tune, vocalizing of 
first loves and second tries. I waited for your eyes; I 
waited for your eyes. Finally you turned and looked my 
way and you beamed at me as if to say, 'Boy, I'm 
checking off my list of everything I like, and you're 
this and this and this.' And I questioned for what do I 
deserve this fate. To whom shall I indebt this honor? I 
watch as you gesticulate, and call me over. Finally we 
speak above the din, and with a twenty-six-year-old 
heartbreaker's grin you set and launched a thousand 
pitter-pats. You had me at 'Hello' and girl, I'm saying 
that's quite a feat. A few minutes later and twenty 
feet away, you were talking to your friends. I tried to 
catch what you'd say, but I couldn't from the distance 
of my chair. I watched your fingers in your hair, your 
fingers in your hair. And I pondered: would you have 
given me a second chance if halfway through a high 
school formal I asked you, 'May I have this dance?' at 
age fourteen in California. I wonder would you have 
batted eyes to block my gaze although I'd meant well, 
my loafers low on action on that floor. On your table 
there was a pen, and I saw you pick it up again and 
again; I wondered what you were writing. 'I'm in it,' I 
assured Jenn, seated next to me. 'I didn't have to make 
a choice, I just had to use my voice.' I was scared I 
might've struck you as genteel, but scraping up the 
tater tots  enough to make a meal  I decided it was 
best just to forget as I observed you place your bet. 
You placed that little bet, and with that lotto pencil 
multiplied your worth to me in exponentials. So I'll 
suffer you some boldened pride: believe me, girl, I've 
got credentials. And if you'll give me half a chance, I 
promise i won't need a second. (The smoke-fouled cotton 
of your pants only washing needs, I reckon.) And maybe 
we can walk someday to a city park or cemetary where 
I'll sing a song about the way you first appeared 
before my gaze.