Last Night by Eric Sparks

Last night, I met a dancer at a dance club.
Intrigued, I asked her for a name and she smiled, but she didn’t answer.
She stood tip-toe and whispered, “You’re handsome,
but I have husband, and my husband has cancer.
I know it sounds insane, and I promise I don’t play games, but
will you come home with me, and not tell me your name?”

Taken by surprise, I carefully checked her eyes
and at sight of the cold blue my heart broke twice.
I took the stripper by the arm
and left with her. I meant no harm;
it would have be wrong to leave her alone.

Outside on the curb, she checked her phone and
smiled sadly. She said we could go to her home and
I just had to be gone by six in the morning. I shook
my head no, but I was willing to roam, to walk
and talk for awhile.

 She took me by the hand and led me to the park,
where I smiled in the dark at my part in this
young girl’s life. Beneath the stars she started to
cry; long, deep sobs about the unfairness of life
and the cruelty of God. At the end of the day, as she would
later say, she would trade everything to have her
husband back again, before he had even passed away.

I told her the truth: “Life is never alright; how could
everything be fine in times like this? How much
time could we find to fight this fight?
Please hold up your head, because in the end
there’s nothing more than death and the dead.”

At the end of my advice, she blinked twice,
and something extraordinary happened. She gave me a hug,
wished me good luck with love, told me I must be
one of the nicest guys and then disappeared into the night.

I think she probably lied, but I don’t think I mind.