What You Could Make Me Do
I
I remember when you and Brad and Joe and I
decided to kill a bottle of champagne, Andre pink, two-for-five,
on a building top in the December cold.
I remember standing at the top of this building
with this bottle of cheap champagne in my hand
and not caring that it was cold, that I was breaking the law.
I was young, and free. And I had friends.
We stood in the shape of a triangle and made the person in the center
drink. I said they had to spin while they drank,
then belch when they were done.
Brad and Joe were more than willing; the belching was
a contest for them. And I became one of the boys for a night,
to become closer to you.
You didn’t want to belch, or spin, or really even drink.
I didn’t make you. But you did. And I’d like to think that in your heart
you did it because you wanted to follow me.
I’ve always wanted to tell you
that I wanted to follow you, too.
II
I got your watch engraved the day of my Christmas party.
I didn’t want to bother with wrapping the thing,
besides, I didn’t even have a box for it,
so I just wore it. You never knew it was there.
When you couldn’t take the suspense any longer,
I told you that I had it on me.
It must have been quite a sight to see you walking in circles
around me, trying to figure out what I was hiding from you.
But I wasn’t even hiding it. I was wearing it on my wrist,
with my other watch, as plain as day.
III
So I made a full picnic and brought it to an empty theater.
And I put on my best black dress, you know, the one
that is off the shoulders, the one I wear to make heads turn.
I set out the food, played slow music and put the champagne glasses
you bought me on the center of the stage floor. When I sat down
I was afraid splinters from the hard-wood floor
would run my stockings. But I wanted you to see what you
could make me do. I didn’t want you to think I was some
nobody. And I wanted to see the look on your face
when you opened the theater doors.
That night you said that everything
was perfect. But it was perfect
only when you sat down to join me.
Copyright Janet Kuypers.
All rights reserved. No material
may be reprinted without express permission.
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