Stranger

 

Last night I danced with a stranger—

In a bar on the wrong side of town.

He was tall dark and mysterious—

And his black hair in curls was wound.

 

His eyes were black as a starless night,

But his smile was warm enough,

And he crossed the bar to sit with me,

Giving his cigarette a puff.

 

We sat for what seemed like hours,

And we drank sweet Irish Ale.

He talked of life in centuries past,

And I noticed his skin was so pale.

 

By Shannon McCaslin-Nolen