a national online publication of woodbury university

Karen Greenbaum-Maya

Last Night in Munich

I waltzed, as one ought to,
on New Year’s Eve, München.
My guy’s law school buddies
were throwing a party,
to Strauss, of course, Danube,
and Emperor and Roses.
I danced in mulberry,
my platform shoes, mini dress.
It was the Seventies.
Earth tones were over.

First Erhardt waltzed with me,
as one is supposed to,
although as a rule
he preferred to ignore me.
Then Hannes, the blind guy
who played killer chess
with an uncanny spatial sense,
something I thought about
as he embraced me
a little too close.

My boyfriend drove taxi
on holidays, weekends,
and this was a big night
for all the big drinkers,
but he had been gone nights
for most of my visit,
then slept through the daytime,
and I hadn’t sat in a plane sixteen hours
to still sleep alone.

At dawn he returned,
woke me up for my flight home.
Weird night, he said.
Picked up this guy at the opera house
right after Beethoven’s Ninth let out. You know.
Had me drive him an hour out into the country,
to this totally dark village crossroads.
Then back into town. “Midnight yet?”
Told him no. “Go again,” says he.
Four hours with him
in a taxi on New Year’s,
‘til midnight and after
and those were the only words out of his mouth.

And those were the only words out of his mouth.

Photo Credit: Lexi Clarke
%d bloggers like this: