by M. Nasorri Pavone

He asked her out on a blind date.
They could meet but there’d be

a door between them, she slyly
whispered over the phone. Her father?

No, a door. He thought that meant
she couldn’t see him, that it was a way

to hint she had a headache or
a husband, but he went to meet her

regardless, in a pressed shirt, new
shoes, slight slap of cologne, wild curl

calmed with gel. Her front door
was oddly open. Hello? He walked in.

Another door. He knocked. No answer.
Could this be the door between them?

Good evening, she said from the other
side. I’d like to see you, he said. Will you

let me in? Don’t you want to peek?
she asked. Should we be talking about

peeking so soon? Why not?
Don’t you like to peek on a first date?

she laughed. What a question, what
a woman, he thought. Crouch down,

she commanded. All right, he said, legs
shaking. Now what? Pull the key out.

M. Nasorri Pavone’s poetry has appeared in River Styx, Sycamore Review, New Letters, The Cortland Review, DMQ Review, Cura, Rise Up Review, Pirene’s Fountain, Chaparral, Poemeleon, Wild Goose Review and elsewhere. She’s been anthologized in Beyond the Lyric Moment (Tebot Bach, 2014), and has been nominated twice for the Pushcart Prize.