He made a pass, it was more a glance;
ever dreaming that with her he’d dance
all night and each and every single sway
brought sweet dreams to him of where they’d lay.
“I’ve got a steady boyfriend, you know” she said
[you know, the type that always turns the head!]
Who, she thought, could ask for any more?
Yeah, he thought, large putz and chiselled jaw.
Uhh! she gasped; can’t believe what he just said,
then flushed and turned away her head,
with thoughts of young men, their eyes full of lust,
agog, for dresses stretched and fit to bust.
Older ones, heads down, avert their gaze,
trying [not] to remember their young days.
Why do they do it! Com’on, you do know why:
to attract attention, but it’s all a lie.
What, when the alabaster starts to craze,
will she wear and think of her young days?
What, then faced with ravages of time,
will be her assets, her life’s rhythm and rhyme.
But… when all is said and done, this life,
though full of opportunity, is rife
with awkward questions, loaded dice
contrary Mary and three blind mice.
So has she the courage of her conviction,
has she any fear of contradiction?
Beauty in youth is only just skin deep;
but beauty of age will ever be hers to keep.
Who made the pass, and the lasting glance
and dreamed with her that they would dance
for all their lives and each and every sway
brought promise of a future where they’d lay.
© 2010 John Anstie
(View the author’s commentary on this poem)