Valentine's Day Special

Letter to a Prospective Groom

Dear _______
You may have been expecting this
in view of the fact that our parents
talked this morning and exchanged,
among other pleasantries,
details about our age, height, weight,
complexion,education,jobs,
and my father tells me you are a
good boy, a teetotaller, non-smoker;
employed (always a good thing), from a good family,
and in view of these things, perhaps,
it would be a good idea, he suggests,
tentative, reasonable,
that you write to him. Tell him a little
about yourself. So I will.
Tell you a little, I mean.
The thing is, it's difficult to choose
what could be considered relevant information.
Age, height, weight, education, employment.
Interests, aspirations.
Or maybe I should explain my Self
in not more than 40 characters.
You can't remotely be interested in
facts like how I'm mortified by my big feet,
or that I chew my nails when I read or think-
which is practically all the time,
so, yes, it's like I'm a nervous five year old
instead of a grown, confident thirty two.
That I'm an optimist masquerading as a cynic
because it's so much easier to be the latter
at least that way, you don't have to spend your evenings
in endless arguments with the ones who are just content
to go with the way things are, imagining that it's the same
as the way things ought to be, because, let's face the truth here
i'm a lazy optimist;
and that the perfect usage of the words 'lose' versus 'loose'
(it's shameful how many people get that wrong)
would win you more points than the fact that you are
(I'm told) the owner of an apartment, 3 bedrooms, no less,
and I wonder whether you spend a night in each, because
that's the kind of thing I wonder, and I imagine your kitchen,
which you hardly step into, fully modern, just waiting
for the right woman, who'll fill the lovely white shelving
with tiny bottles from Ikea or Home Centre, and maybe a vase of
fresh flowers on the tabletop.
And isn't this a coincidence, today is Valentine's,
and if you believe in signs, you might think
that this is an auspicious day to begin
an acquaintance, that may turn into a lifelong-
what's the word for it- contract?
Ah, she's a romantic, you must be thinking
right about now, and yes, I am,
but please don't send me roses, or teddy bears,
or even an ecard- and really, you must be thinking-
she's so nineties, who sends ecards these days,
and it's true, sometimes I feel I belong in another
time and place, and truthfully, dimension,
but usually it takes a while for people to
figure that out, but I'm telling you straight
because I think that truth is necessary,
that kindness is an aphrodisiac, and coming back to
that whole time and space thing, don't you think
those lines are lovely: the one about the gods annihilating
time and space to make two lovers happy. Pope, I believe,
and not the one that sits in Rome.
Ok, look, here's the deal:
I'll excuse the fact that you don't know your Poet from your Pontiff,
if you accept that I'm just not, and never will be, your mother.