If (Poetry)

I recall how long I waited that night
close to where we said we’d meet
tucked in a quiet pub doorway — dim — discreet
and out of the chill wind that pressed
through the thinness of my new black dress
and tugged at my hair
with its flirty feathered comb...
how I shivered — half-afraid
as time went on
that you might not come
had maybe changed your mind
then a passing car slowed
and suddenly you were there
emerging from the crowd
and so I left the shadows
walked into your life — blind
to how things would turn out —
never imagining how fate would bind
us in a child — lock fast
and forever
our ill-matched histories.

All down to chance — I know
it was touch and go — for
if you had arrived only
a few minutes later —
if the temperature had been
a degree or two colder —
if my patience had run out
just a little sooner
I would have given up —
gone home and watched TV
annoyed — alone
and it’s most likely she
would never have
been born.