She wore a red dress,

Causal and playful,

With tennis shoes.

I boasted a blue tie,

Grey slacks, and a light blue

Button-up,

Also with my sneakers.

Chicken and cashews, my order,

Sounding sophisticated,

As if I knew Chinese food.

Sweet and Sour Pork, hers,

Simple and straightforward,

As if she didn't care.

We'd met at a job place,

Waiting for the hours to pass,

Playing childish card games.

"Hey, wasn't that something,"

She smiled coyly.

The next night, here we were,

Nervous silence engulfing us.

Author's note:  This poem is actually based on my very first date when I was a freshman in college.  We met at a dull work study job--just the two of us stuffing envelopes for the admission's office on a Saturday.  Most of the actual real date is described in Chapter 8 of "The Last Ticket to Fairfield."  Just replace the Italian restaurant with this Chinese one, remove most of the dialogue, and instead of watching the sunrise, we actually walked into the chapel located in the center of campus and talked all night long.  Everything else was pretty much how it happened, including the park scene and the dance.  Our relationship didn't last two weeks before she fell madly in love with a college sophomore, a man she later married.  We did eventually become friends.