You grin at me
flirtatiously
in black and white.
Your hand sneaks
mischievously
inside the blouse
of the laughing blond
beside you.
The caption
(tossed off with flourish)
reads
'Tit-illating to be sure'.
Your body is lean,
your lips pursed,
your hair much too long.
(how you hated the seventies)
I close my eyes
and try
to picture you
at thirty two,
but it's difficult...
You see
I was too subsumed
by me,
too fond
of my own reflection.
Too keen
to please,
to 'strut like a favorite to applause'.
The car door slams.
You're back from the gym,
sweaty and full of life.
You peck my lips perfunctorily
and complain
about some 'idiot on the road'.
I re-read the title of this poem
with a smile.
Alison Cassidy
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/god-i-wasted-thirty-years-of-you/
