Crab Orchard Review Vol. 12, No. 2, our

Jim Daniels
They watch the last dance
—evening pomp turned into ragged
romp—then shuffle out toward clumsy coats,
the bride and groom long gone,
the dj packing up. In the dim hallway
they help each other into slack sleeves.
They’re still visible amid the singular shadows
of their quiet street—the groom, their neighbors’
youngest, the last boy on the entire block—
and still in love nights like this, their backs
leaning into each other as they laugh
at someone else’s jokes.
He opens the door for her
as they step out into the dirty snow
of the floodlit parking lot. No, they
won’t make love tonight, nor snuggle
like spoons, nor rattle like forks.
Perhaps they will kiss before heading
for their separate rooms. Exhausted
from the long public night, they may
forget. They danced one song—held
each other’s hands as they spun
like wobbly planets. Others made room
for them as they had once made room
for others.
In the silence of their vows,
the car drifts.
34 ◆ Crab Orchard Review