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The Good Knight

 Terribly shy, without even a date to my credit,
 
 I longed for the days of knights
 and ladies, as corny as that sounds.
 
 A knight's foolishness wouldn't be exposed
 through body language.  As a knight,
 
 visor down, you could stammer out your love
 for Victoria or Pamela or Genevieve
 without the fear of looking stupid
 
 or the fear of having to go farther
 than you were comfortable with.
 
 After all getting down on bent knee alone
 was difficult enough. 
 
 Your armor would be proof that you were special. 
 
 A girl would be lucky to have you
 and you couldn't mess the engagement up
 by proving your awkwardness
 in the back seat of your dad's car.
 
 It would be enough to hold gloved hands.
 
 The tribe of kids would come later
 
 in an improbable
 
 marriage.

The Senators

The Senator's Wife

      She blackens her thin eyebrows,
      using a tweezer after wards.
      She rouges her cheeks.
      She dusts her chin.
      Earrings as gaudy
      as any warrior's medals
      are hung from her ear lobes.
      She rehearses a smile.  Her teeth
      are polished stones. 
      Her designer dress
      a testament to class.  Everything
      in place she turns
      to her husband.
      If only, he thinks,
      she doesn't unloose
      her reckless
      tongue.

The Senator's Husband

     His suit is as unwrinkled
      as a suit of armor.
      Butlers at a Washington fund raiser
      have never looked as
      impeccable.  He practices
      a smile he hopes isn't
      lewd.  He nods at his wife
      that he is ready.
      If only, she prays,
      the fool doesn't
      fart

Blue Eyes

Sheila let slip out, "With those blue eyes
you'll always be popular."
"Don't worry.
we'll always be together," I said. "I swear it."

Years later I'm returning my son
on a Sunday night.

When we drive up to the curb
his mother, Sheila, is there.
She glares at me
as if I may have broken
a thousand year old vase.
"He's okay," I say. "I didn't pour
Jack Daniel's down his throat."

"I wonder," she says,
and pulls him away.
Nothing worries her as much
as our son's blue
eyes

Robert Bradshaw is a programmer living in Redwood City, CA. Recent work of his can be found at Eclectica, Slow Trains, Boston Literary Magazine, Apple Valley Review, Blue Fifth Review and Mannequin Envy.