Her plait swings like a horse’s mane, bird-like chitter-chatter fills the silent gaps.
She struggles to match her quick footsteps to his easy stride.
His glance away speaks of boredom; morning after regrets.
She trembles, anxious as a hunted field mouse,
transformed into a marionette, invisible strings causing jerky movements
as he taps his watch and frowns at time’s slow journey.
Seeking ways to recapture his fleeting interest,
she veers off the path, sandals slapping the dry earth.
Attempts a coquettish smile over her shoulder,
twisted smile followed by twisted ankle and a yelp of pain.
He notices her hobble and reluctantly offers his hand,
transported to a scene in a Victorian melodrama.
His face is a mask of disdain and discomfort,
a far cry from his flirtatious banter over a barbecue grill.
She snaps an apricot-coloured rose from its stem,
carelessly ruining a stranger’s prize-winning display,
muffles a swear word as thorns dig into her eager skin.
Blood pools and she sucks at her thumb,
wonders if he will find this endearing or sensual,
hopes she can rekindle his desire; scared he finds her clumsy.
He stares at the bloom she offers, dampens desire to upbraid her for theft,
notes the spot of blood, like a blush of discomfort, staining one delicate petal,
and pity stirs as he sees the hope in her wide-eyed gaze.
A tiny black fly crawls out of the stamen, a blot on perfection.
Planning to escape as soon as he can find an excuse,
he takes the scented flower with a gentle smile;
to refuse would be like slapping a small child.
She saunters through the park, dangling the blooms against the tall grass.
A dislodged and disgruntled wasp flies close, warning that summer dreams harbour danger.
She stops walking and talking at last, her mouth and hopes running dry,
sickened by acting the part in this tiring dance of seeking love.
She makes her excuses – suddenly remembering an appointment,
and surprised and abruptly disappointed, he watches her plait swing.
He blinks away the image of dark plait on white blouse,
of sensual hips, and lips curving into a delighted smile,
of the sound of two pairs of footsteps finally finding a shared rhythm.
Wonders if this could have been the start of something.
Later that evening, as the high sun droops low,
a small child cartwheels across the dry grass,
finds discarded petals strewn like confetti,
Gathers them reverently, breathing in their cloying scent.
Wonders if a prince gave the rose to his beautiful princess.
Her smile brightens her face, and she grips a petal tight in her fist.
5/31/2026
The Words That Got to Me
"Planning to escape as soon as he can find an excuse, he takes the scented flower with a gentle smile; to refuse would be like slapping a small child." With this you change the whole way we see him. from the appearance of almost cruel dismiossive boredom, we see him instead as trapped. "of the sound of two pairs of footsteps finally finding a shared rhythm." probably the most romantic line in this sad tale of a failed date.
Suggestions / Possible Tweaks
The opening feels slightly overloaded with similes. "Her plait swings like a horse's mane" followed immediately by "bird-like chitter-chatter" then later "anxious as a hunted field mouse" is a lot of animal imagery arriving very quickly. I found myself noticing the comparisons rather than the characters. "hopes she can rekindle his desire" tells me what she's feeling rather than allowing me to infer it from her actions. The preceding actions already communicate most of that.
This is an interesting and enjoyable poem, Rachel. On the surface, it is simply a failed date, yet actually a far more complex look at anxiety, insecurity, and the way we can weave stories about what the other person is thinking, leaving both protagonists trapped within self-made assumptions. It would have been so easy to make this a villain-and-victim story, yet you create a portrait of two lonely people trapped by fear and bad timing. This is not about rejection; it is about misunderstanding, leaving neither getting what they want and creating a lingering sense of 'if only' as the lasting image.