Tall, proud, white-haired and steely-eyed,
He stood waiting and I recognized
That he was the one I was meeting,
So I nervously smiled a ‘first greetin.’
Glasses dignified the handsome face
As he waited, I slowly took a place
Beside him, and he knew, sure knew;
“This is the woman I’ve written to.”
Wonder filled my mind as I thought:
“Will he like the clothes I bought?”
Nervous laughter and inanities poured forth
From the lips of this woman from the north.
As the evening wore on I felt worse,
And mistook his silence for being terse.
It’s over, I thought as I opened the door
Of his nice, Ford truck, but— more?
“I’d like to see you again,” he quietly said,
Just when I thought the whole thing dead.
“You would?” I gulped in great surprise,
And turned to look again at those eyes.
Dear God in heaven, does he really approve?
“Would you like me to call, when I move?”
Was all I could think to talk about,
And he answered “Yes,” so I stepped on out.
Gentleman that he was, he “saw me” to my abode
By following me to the turnoff of the road.
No great thing—a critic might say,
But it was late, and such a long way.
Then out of “pride” we could call it that,
I wrote dumb letters to combat
Any thought I might have in desperation,
That widows and dates have no relations.
Oh, silent handsome man of the south:
Did I lose it all with my Yankee mouth?
Now I wait hopefully by the phone each day,
Just hoping he will once again say:
“I’d like to see you again.”
—Lois Barrett ‘91