Stood Up

For the first hour,
She is eager.
Fidgeting in her lacy skirt,
Twisting his boutonniere between
Her freshly painted fingernails,
She listens to the click of her
New gold watch against
Her thin, tanned wrist—
Four o’clock.
First date.

For the second hour,
She is nervous.
Twirling her newly-permed raven hair
Around her softened cuticles,
She taps her delicate flats
Eagerly on the cool concrete below,
Her toes wriggling with anticipation—
Five o’clock.
First date.

For the third hour,
She is worried.
Toying with her sparkly cell,
Shifting in her hardening seat,
She adjusts the ribbons on her
Brand-new blouse, scratching
The bow on her quivering curls—
Six o’clock.
First date.

For the fourth hour,
She is frightened.
Her cramping feet beat out
The bass drum rhythm of her heart
As she tries his number again and again,
Only to be exiled
To the dungeon of his voicemail—
Seven o’clock.
First date.

For the fifth hour,
She is crushed.
Rain begins to fall
As her mascara smears...
She tilts her head back
And lets the raindrops from the skies
Mix with the raindrops from her eyes—
Eight o’clock.
She’s been stood up.