The poem I wrote for her was for me - all ego -
That's how I see it now: a masquerade party,
With me posing and knowing, confident confidant.
The imagery was measured, cut
From day's marble of sun and shade;
And I spoke of her bejeaned arse like a boy
Saying things to shock his mother, cheeky,
Not downright rude. Cheeky too
The curve of breast - somehow the road
Carried my load, red motorbike's roar
My mating call to her. It is so
Predictable now, looking back.
I cut away the glissando and the Boy's Own
Symbolism, I cut out the pose and the poise;
I cut a page down to a quatrain. Will she
See me now? I'm in plain view, ego
Lightened by the light of years, a boy
Leaning on his bike outside her house.