Alighieri And Me Poem by Michael Pruchnicki

Mr Alighieri and I were sitting on upholstered chairs
in the front room of his apartment on Purgatory Lane

A freshly brewed pot of tea sat on the end table
between us, and we sipped from ceramic cups
all la-de-da you know - professor and his student

He spoke my name in his overly precise manner,
'Miss Yrotaval, ' each syllable falling with fluid grace.

'Please call me Meghan. Saves time, you know, '
I said, smiling and leaning back as my skirt rode up.

He fidgeted, lowering his eyes, and motioned
toward an open pack of cigarettes on the table.

'I don't smoke, Mr Alighieri, ' I said. A faint blush
rose in his cheeks as he looked away.

'I read with great care your dissertation on T.S. Eliot,
quite remarkable and very astute - you intend to teach? '

Always the formality and reserve, I thought. A fussbudget
and anal retentive bachelor lost in books and papers -

'How about a tussle with naked flesh and blood right here
and now? Damn remarkable and astute all to hell! '

He agreed because we consummated our lust then and there!