Thursday, April 16, 2009

The Prom

What the bloody hell, you kindly ask?
Someone's off-the-wallflower suggestion
sure beats scrambling for another
post about eggs, sunny-side or poached.
A magical night? Sure, fine, whatever, been downhill
from there, chills, maybe the occasional thrill. I think.
O, dearest wife, I kid and a half,
actually two, one for me and one for you.
"Getting off track, marriage boy?"
Oh boy, and how. Where was I? Yeah, the prom.
Dancing with nearly two decades between,
her satin rosy number, like that shot above --
"a flimsy excuse to post some Sarah G."
Hey, it's not as if I'm David B.
"No doubt Mrs. Graves would agree."
Ahem, why reference a show
that wouldn't appear for six more years?
Un, vital part of our cohabitation routine
et deux, poetic license, ever hear of it?
I had a license and wasn't afraid to use it
on a tuxedo; sure fixed my t-shirted wagon.
A white one drove to pick her pink innuendo up.
Things were looking perky, some might even say
back past chez moi to party time, excellent.
Praise Hanz und Franz for obscured lighting,
my, the photographer was frightening,
the then-First Lady in black tie.
The food was alright, the music was worse:
ass factories manufacturing C&C,
Robert Van Winkle imploring us to stop,
collaborate -- listen, this ain't Vichy,
but my stomach'll collaborate with some vomiting --
"must've been that Jersey cheese."
Bad Medicine'll poison your guts every time.
No one likes the grime of Dead Skin Mask?
Such visceral romance is forever lost
as you empty, quotidian souls were.
At you, I scoff. The name's Randal,
Mr. Graves if you're nasty.
"WTF? Been smoking grass, inhaling glue, some gas?"
Cultural touchstones, dumbass.
The question of the post: did Randal dance,
slow? Sure, as slow as my clumsy feet'll go.
Since all night long our tongues were tied
over and around hitting for the cycle,
it's safe to say that she didn't mind.
Until we got ring around the finger
a year past. That post comes later -- six feet under.


Mary Ellen said...

Ahh....sweet memories. I can't wait to read the sequel. It feels good to know I'm not the only one who is married (many years later) to my prom date.

Übermilf said...

Since you're doing what I tell you, come fold my laundry. And walk the dog.

Utah Savage said...

Wow, you are a romantic sap.

dguzman said...

You old softie.

And thanks for the hot SMG pic, buddy!

Mauigirl said...

Brilliant! Very nice poetry and story!

Randal Graves said...

nunly, the sequel is nothing but ball n' chain misery. Pay attention, everyone! ;-)

übermilf, yeah, after the game. Can you get me a beer?

utah, occasionally.

dguzman, I love me some Buffy!

mauigirl, thanks, but now I have all that horrid music bouncing around my noggin. I'll be having nightmares for a week.

Snave said...

Very nicely done, Randal!

I didn't marry my high school prom date, but that's o.k. My prom date was a friend I had known since Kindergarten, and neither of us had asked anyone or been asked to go... so we went and had a great time people-watching, dancing, and being non-self-absorbed.

Beach Bum said...

I laugh now looking at all the goofy kids getting dressed up for the prom. Until I remember what I looked like, then I shut up. Great story!

Tom Harper said...

Hey, how'd that picture of my prom date get on the Internets?

Missy said...

"Such visceral romance is forever lost
as you empty, quotidian souls were."

I like that.

The spark disappears in the daily drudge.

Ah memory, the miracle of yesterday, today.

susan said...

Since I was a snob who wouldn't date highschool boys (or at least the ones who asked me) I never went to a prom. Instead, I got into tons of trouble with guys usually five years older than me who could afford their own cars, fancy restaurants and the best motel rooms.

Cool poem :-)

Dr. Zaius said...

I like the "six feet under" part. I was a bit offended by the "pink innuendo", though.

Chef Cthulhu said...

You can't fool like Vanilla Ice waaaay more than you let on.

Betty C. said...

Aaaw...very cool poem. That's what you should do when you don't know what to write on the blog!

Randal Graves said...

snave, if only we had had some illegal substances to drown out the awful tunes.

BB, back then, for starters, the spectacles were generally larger!

tom, speaking of illegal substances, methinks you're on some now.

missy, there's a few worth remembering. But it's mostly an avalanche of bill paying and other various and sundry crap. Save breakfast, of course.

susan, you know, you really are a rebel. I think the FBI should keep tabs on you. ;-)

dr. zaius, if I've offended someone, call it a job well done!

Tomorrow, wingnut parade!

chef, man, was I pissed when those limey bastards from Queen dissed my homie Vanilla, claiming HE stole the bassline.

betty, but that means being creative more often. I'm not sure I can live up to that!

La Belette Rouge said...

You post-modern poet,you. I am happy to see you didn't go light on the cultural references in your egg salad. The lit journals eat up an ironic reference to Buffy the Vampire like poached eggs and never manage to notice the egg on their face. But, really, to kick a dead horse or to over fry an egg, this poem makes me feel all sunny side up and you know I am usually hard boiled.

I am delighted you took up my challenge. I am going to request more poems and now I request that you send this one out. Go on.. you can do it. If you don't the terrorists win.

Randal Graves said...

Alright, perhaps I'll send it out, but with all the egg references I'm suddenly feeling that sustenance is my prime concern.

Two things:
1)since I actually like Buffy, do I silently stake my reference's irony?

2)since I'm a commie pinko, don't I want the terrorists to win?

La Belette Rouge said...

Two answers:
1. I would stick with irony as it will be assumed and earnestness is not postmodern. Anyway, in postmodern poetry the author is not to be trusted.
2.When I said terrorists I meant Chimpie.

Tengrain said...

Graves, you swine!

Here's one for you:

Roses are picked
Violets are plucked
Went to the prom at 16
Didn't get home till noon the next day

(You might say I got fucked)



Randal Graves said...

LBR, 1)very true. We authors are the worst criminals.
2)I stand corrected.

tengrain, you bastard, that's ingenious!

Tengrain said...

Graves, you swine!

I try my best.



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