I once dated—and I’m not making this up–
not quite a Miss Congeniality, but a runner-up
at the Miss Massachusetts Teenager Pageant
Yes—she was my lady, and I was her gent.
I met her on the outbound T
we both got off at Copley Square.
She was more than congenial enough for me
and had blonde highlights in brunette hair.
We started to talk of this and that–
actually, to be more specific–
about a crazy guy who jabbered as we sat,
stifling laughs at his dementia tres horrific.
I suppose that’s a flaw that would hurt your chance
if you revealed it when asked a beauty pageant question.
“Are there any social causes that you like to advance?”
“No but I crack up at guys with manic depression.”
We went out for a while, I had just hit thirty,
but no matter how hard I tried to get her into the sack
she resolutely refused to do anything dirty.
She’d go away for the weekend, and call when she got back.
I never quite pieced her personality together;
We eventually stopped seeing each other.
I needed a girlfriend who was more than fair weather,
not always running off to take care of her mother.
And so I miss Miss Congeniality (runner-up),
fate dashed her from my lips like a flowing cup.
We coulda been something, her and me,
but instead she’s just part of my yuppie history.
I suppose there’s a lesson, however odd,
for all who would strike up an acquaintanceship
on public transportation, with a beautiful broad:
a lunatic’s not enough to sustain a relationship.