Wallflowers

The shy and the sensitive,  
that was said of us, the sort  
that withers in soirees and dances  
between boys and girls' schools.  
There were men made for these,
they would go party-hopping  
before deciding which combo  
they preferred, where to preen all night.  
 
The room would be lined with chairs,  
everybody sat with their backs  
against the wall -- except these men,  
they do not slouch or sit, for they were  
comfortable in their swagger,  
the room was mapped by popularity:  
a forest of the handsome corralling  
the alluring and keeping us at a distance.  
 
Now in the dark, you will notice them,  
the wallflowers, girls meeker than me,  
more timid than the shyest of boys.  
Yes, they were the homely  
and the bespectacled,  
the tallest and the brightest.  
It pained that they were inside  
the room but not inside the party,  
no feet jostled in front of them,  
no hands to lead them to the floor.  
 
While there were no feet colder than mine,  
without a word, I, and a few --  
the ungainly, we without cars,  
the shy and the sensitive stepped out  
of ourselves, out of the gaunt  
and the legs that knew no dance,  
we left the clumsy and our bungling  
by our seats and dedicated the night  
to the excluded, to the wallflowers.  
 
Oh, we wanted them off their chairs,  
frisky on the floor and perspiring.  
I may have worn pants that shone of wear,  
shoes you shouldn't show the soles of,  
but I could, aided by the similarly minded,  
make the bashful blush and cheered,  
we, the poorly shod, extended our hands  
and stayed all night, as noble men.  
While that was it and that was all,  
the homely were happy and giggling,  
in the dark were faces made pretty,  
you could die then, and face your god  
with a certain smugness.