My Last Love

He was waiting for me at the ferry

My last love.

There in the crowd on the welcoming side,

He stood out —

Sunglassed,

Baseball cap, tee shirt, cutoff shorts,

Improbable Romeo

Weaving through the crowd of

Six-pack-carrying bachelor boys,

Bridesmaids embracing

bouquets of margarita mix

Wealthy matrons thin as whippets, weathered from too many games of golf,

He stood out.

Carrying my baggage,

Heavy with hopes and regrets, I

stepped down,

over-the-hill romantic —

Wild-haired, word-drunk —

Improbable Juliet,

And everyone but the two of us disappeared.

He was waiting for me at the ferry,

My last love.

He was waiting for me at the ferry.

I see him still.

Eileen Moon has been a smitten Vineyard visitor in many seasons since 1993, and this poem was born at the ferry landing in Oak Bluffs during an afternoon of watching several departures and returns. She is a past resident at Noepe Center for the Literary Arts in Edgartown.