by Troy Jollimore
At my father’s request I went into the city
to ask for the Senator’s daughter’s hand.
But she said she would not have me, or any man.
It was, I thought, a great pity:
she was not only wealthy, but very pretty.
So I told her that I would stand
on the spot of earth where I’d been rejected
and each night she would hear my demand
until she recanted, and accepted.
For three nights I shivered as the constellations
wheeled about my head, and I repeated my offer.
Finally, on the third night, her father
put his arm around me and brought me to the kitchen.
We drank scotch. He told me she would not change her decision.
He gave me his second daughter as consolation.