Night in White Satin on a Wicker Bench On the Eve of Her Betrothal
Ode duh wicker webs we'd weave
when foist we practice off duh sleeve
instead o' writin' off duh cuff
‘bout wicker chairs ‘n wicker luff
Ya pounced on pins ‘n wicker tips
‘at poke ‘er dress while puckered lips
await romantic moment there
when luffy duffs fly in de air –
‘n lookin’ back at diamon’ ring
which Daddy thought a wond’rous thing
ah hopin’ wid mah fab’lous Miss
a moment o’ such kissy bliss
yo’ open eyes o’ blue o’ brown
sneakin’ peeks – well, –all aroun’
‘n ah be lookin’ fo’ a star
dat shines as purdy as yo’ are
‘n yo’ be lookin’ fo’ da moon
hopin’ we be kissin’ soon
beneat’ dat big ol’ oaken tree
where sittin’ once wuz yo’ ‘n me
ah in me tattered shoit ‘n pants
shiftin’ like dey filled wit ants
‘til down I dropped upon a knee
like ah wuz checkin’ jus’ ta see
sumpin’ lookin’ like a mess
a teenie mud spot on yer dress–
maybe thought dat ‘twas a hole
to see ya’ heart ‘n see yer soul –
but, den ah knew ah could not linger
an’grabbed a holt o’ yo ring finger
hopin’ yo’ don’ pull yer han’
‘n yank me up n’ make me stan’
in front o’ dis here wicka seat
wher’ Daddy ‘n me Maw would meet
‘n sit ‘n hug wid all ‘is might
til mo’nin turned inta da night;
but ‘ere we is jus’ bot’ o’ us
we bot’ be feeli’ luff n’ lus’
‘n ah be shakin’ like a leaf
askin’ ‘ow ta spell relief
instead o’ will ya’ marry me,
expectin’ yo’ ta say, “We’ll see.”
Blurtin’ out da “Will yo’... thing
ah popped da question, plopped da ring
‘n stammered thro’ each ‘potent word
hopin’ what ah meant yo’ heard.
‘N when yo’ rose to answer me
ah still down lo’ on bended knee,
a snappin’, crackin’ poppin’, too,
too quick fo’ anyone to do
dat wicker bench just busted loose
‘n ripped away like herd o’ moose
dat dress o’ satin, silk, ‘n lace
‘n wrapped aroun’ yer blushin’ face
‘n ah don’t wanna sound so rude –
but, yo be better in da nude –
like ah had neve’ seen befo’
but in ma dreams ‘n never mo’.
Thank goodness fo’ dis summer’s night
tho’ dat don’t make it wrong o’ right –
cuz ah still lov’ ya none da less
with o’ without dat Satin Dress.
poem by Lorenzo Costigliolo
Added by Poetry Lover
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