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