Mindy in a Dress

He's 82, convinced he's 28
Stone sober, he would still talk
about Mindy in a dress
Mary was his first loss
She wasn't made to marry
Michelle was his through high school,
but then she met Miguel
And he was courting a girl named Mona
when Lisa came between them
It wasn't until Mindy that he knew
how love should look
He was drunk at a ball game
the first time that he saw her
She was glowing as if nude
(though this is only wishful remembering)
In reality she wore blue jeans,
and a shirt he always hopes to recall
He could think of nothing to say to her
(this had simply never happened to him)
So it was that he grinned endlessly
while she walked him through the talking
Their first date was a crowded cafe
Their first kiss was a dollar movie
Their first "I love you" was his proposal
Their first child was to be their only
It's been 40 years without her
He says he's happy to still remember
And the way he looks up from the table
shows he hasn't stopped
hoping in vain to see her
They'd been making love on date night
Her dress had seen them home early
He couldn't wait to be beneath it
She put it back on at bedtime
They fell asleep while snuggling
The dress alone was warm when he awoke
So clear in his mind, the pattern
So deep in his eyes, her wearing it
"Do you come here often?" he asks me
I've met him on at least three occasions
And little does he realize
how lucky I assume him for having known
this Mindy in a dress, which I've yet to find
But the drinks are strong, and I soon forget
to imagine how beautiful she must be

Poetry from A Bar in Brooklyn by Shane Windham
E-book and paperback coming spring of 2017

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