Rita Dove


Golden Oldie - Poem by Rita Dove

I made it home early, only to get
stalled in the driveway-swaying
at the wheel like a blind pianist caught in a tune
meant for more than two hands playing.
The words were easy, crooned
by a young girl dying to feel alive, to discover
a pain majestic enough
to live by. I turned the air conditioning off,
leaned back to float on a film of sweat,
and listened to her sentiment:
Baby, where did our love go?-a lament
I greedily took in
without a clue who my lover
might be, or where to start looking.


Comments about Golden Oldie by Rita Dove

  • Rookie - 45 Points Colleen Courtney (5/2/2014 12:45:00 AM)

    Ah! Love those golden oldies! (Report) Reply

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Poem Submitted: Friday, October 11, 2013

Poem Edited: Friday, October 11, 2013


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