Smitten Old Man
SMITTEN OLD MAN
High school year book, 47
I’m not a gad looking guy –
Short hair, sport coat, tie
This remembered as I gaze across the room
She’s sitting at a table near the wall,
Lap top open, ear phones, late and all
She wears a sleeveless blouse
On a cookie now I’m nibbling,
But, my God, her arm! What’s that scribbling?
From distance the appendage looks solid black
Is she weird, some sort of voodoo?
“No, you idiot!” I laugh. “Just a tattoo.”
Through her tangled blond hair a streak of purple,
No cosmetics improve the sallow face,
Clothes, by 40s standards, a national disgrace
I’m smitten – chair seat a bed of nails,
Arthritis rebels, bony hands clutch -
This modern generation, it’s just too much!
Dave Austin
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