A/N: Written for the Monthly Het-Tastic Drabble-athlon, Ron/Fleur, #052 – second hand, the If You Dare Challenge, #229 – trailer park, and the Het-Pairings Boot Camp, #021 - crash, and for the Star Challenge, Artcurus.
A Larger Poetry Collection
114. Shabby
He was a fool to fall for her;
he knew he'd only crash
but there was no helping it, really,
because he stood in front of her
with shabby robes and all.
He was terribly self-conscious;
his fingers itched for a broom
or a chess piece
because that was what he was good at,
what he knew,
He didn't know girls like her
who were too beautiful to be on earth,
who probably had mansions
that made his little house look like
a little trailer in the park –
He wished he was up in the sky;
he knew he could fly, and he was sure
she could as well
and the wind'd whip his robes into shape
and there'd be no-one else to stare at them
And maybe they could have a Quidditch match together,
the one thing he could do
without the crowd
But she was distracting enough in herself
and he'd probably crash at that as well.
Perhaps chess was the safer option
but it seemed too barbaric
for her elegance.