A Quarterly Journal of Contemporary English Language Haibun
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December 2009, vol 5 no 4

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Adelaide B. Shaw


The Invitation

Red satin dress. Form fitting on her youthful body. The lone businessman, satiated with penne a la vodka, merlot and brandy, eyes her with quick longing. She stands at the edge of the dance floor, a slight sway to her hips, keeping time with the beat. To be 30 years younger. To dance with her, to hold her, to feel her soft breasts pressed against him, to breathe her in. He moans as he rises.

She stares ahead, ignoring the short, pudgy man. She moves sideways; he follows. Another step and another. The musicians begin a rumba and he extends his hand. “Dance?” He sighs. Desire rising along with his breath. She spins away on her toes, her whisper grating like sand paper.

“Get lost, creep.”

crickets gearing up
in the summer night
love in the dark

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