The Wrong End Of The Sugar Cane (Poem 39 of 99)

He sits there waiting, wanting, withering, waif like waning, wondering

will she turn up… like an old school trouser hem?

or will she, like a rope tied around itself,… not?

Sweat irrigating his hands, irritating demands, of a sub-conscious mind switching his plans:

“she likes me, she hates, she’ll be here, she won’t;

and before he can cross the t of his last thought

she’s standing in front of him smiling

but what he can’t see is she is doing this for charity

healing a heart broken by too many let downs

she says a meal over an hour won’t be too much of my life

to give

but no matter the outcome

she’s already decided to block all calls

after this first date.

Starters arrive,

and she likes his jokes; he likes everything about her

simply because she’s the only person to have turned up in his life

at a table set for two.

Then the main course…

and she’s thinking… “funny but lacks self confidence;

not a man that can take control”

And he’s thinking- “she smiles every time I speak

I have this in the bag”;

but he doesn’t know the bag is cultured with holes.


The waiter asks if they want dessert

she says no

he says no.

He takes out a ring and proposes

and she also proposes-

that he stuff it up his arse

because they haven’t even kissed yet

and he’s already asking for her soul…

She vomits up the starter and main course

all over his crisp pink shirt

and he thinks to himself:

“I thought white girls were supposed to be easier than Pakistani ones?

Dasein Petals © Copyright 2013

Poem 39 of 99 to raise money for operations for deformed, poverty stricken childrenSponsor me.

@DaseinPetals #99poems



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