There’s nothing like a bottle of Madeira

in our house on campus
Mark was the sophisticated college guy
with a posh English accent
living in a tiny room all by itself
at the foot of the stairs
he was immaculately groomed
wore an Ascot
smoked a pipe
and read Greek and German

my roommate and I were
freshmen
he a hick from upstate New York
I a sophisticate from
the north Ontario bush
we had gone to Mark
to ask what he thought
we should buy to drink
on our first university dates

There’s nothing like a bottle of Madeira

he said

would you
buy it for us
since we’re not twenty-one
we said
volunteering to pay for it

he said

There’s nothing like a bottle of Madeira

and agreed

we were so excited
heading out with
our bottle and
our girls
I don’t remember the date
I sort of remember the girl
and the bottle

but I do remember how
two guys had to
help me up the stairs
to my room well after curfew
and how I wanted
to go up horizontally
and I remember how
hung-over we both were
the next morning

I think I agree

There’s nothing like a bottle of Madeira

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About riverwriter

Poet, playwright, duplicate bridge player, website designer, cottager, husband, father, grandfather, former athlete, carpenter, computer helper for my friends, theatre designer, backstage polymath, retired teacher of highschool English, drama, art, a baritone singer in a barbershop quartet, who knows what else? wordcurrents is on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/wordcurrents/ Doug also has a Facebook page, "Incognitio", related to his novels.
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