Senior Prom, May third,  nineteen fifty-two.
The lights lowered for the last dance and our
shadowed first kiss, kept like a flower
unfading. Arthur’s Swing Band mellowed, to

spotlight the husky crooning of Miss Lou
Parsons, “Goodnight, sweetheart,” at the hour
of wishing: “In my dreams tonight I’ll hold you,”
as we’ve held each other from that midnight hour

to this evening in our fifty-two year
dance.  After we wash the dishes, you light
the candles, while I start the record. Miss

Lou warbles, “still my love will guide you,” and years
fade as the steps of our dance that distant night
carry us again to our shadowed first kiss.