;)

Her wignut wellies never fit the mould,
water always seeped into her pristine
white socks from the sides where
seams had split with age and fray.

Stomach lurched when she saw him stand,
sun framing his skinny jeaned, peachy James Dean
packet of perfection.
He would never wink at her.
Plain Jane, dumpy Deborah, geeky Gertrude.

When she hit her thirties
returning to the spot older, wizened,
deeper in some ways behind bespectacled eyes,
carrying the memory of five minutes ago,
at co-op,
when he stood before her,
pot bellied, bald
armed with Tennants Super Extra,
and sixty Mayfair-

wink.

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7 responses to “;)

  1. Last weekend I attended a memorial service for an old friend, meeting up with lots of old friends as a result. One in particular…(a school girl crush of the most painful kind) was JUST what I needed to put that misery behind me…whose laughing now ;)

  2. It is also a sad feeling; a feeling that I get now, at my older age, looking around at some of the local kids that my children went to school with, who may have appeared ‘advanced’ and grown up whilst they were at school together, but for whom reality checked their progress. My school days didn’t present the right circumstances for me to observe this, moving locations too regularly. But the next generation produced some miserable images of girls, toddlers by their sides, pushing prams, barely out of their teens; boys, now ‘men’, whose challenge is to emulate the drinking, fighting, womanising men, who went before them; role models, who have neither role nor model on which to base their existence.

    This poem is such a poignant observation of an important aspect of our lives, Shan, that it will stay with me for a long time. Brilliant, girl, just brilliant!

  3. I don’t know what “Tennants Super Extra, and sixty Mayfair” are, but I don’t need to. You’ve served enough emotion and knowledge to this confused Yank and somewhat sensitive man that I know all I need. Heavy sigh! It could be me. Beautifully and pointedly conveyed, Nightingale! :) xo

  4. I’m guessing this poem has come from somewhere deep within your being, Shan, despite the nod & the wink & a lessening of regret. We can never know how young adults are going to ‘turn out’ ~ not when we are in the same place as they are … yet, sadly, many of them will, at some point, join the Tenants & Mayfair brigade. You have not … because you have talent, responsibility & resolve. So Mr Pot Belly was no great loss, it turns out … or was he … back then … with his perfect persona? Perhaps, despite the seemingly ‘good ending’. he also stirs up missed opportunities from years ago? ;)

Put me out of my misery people!

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