| It's Valentine's Day and across this ball of earth | | | | and waves about saying 'hi' and 'hello' to some of |
| there are millions of couples deep in embrace, lips | | | | the early birds at the pub. Moments later a |
| locked in ecstatic union, joined in other ways, too, | | | | chappy joins the duo, sits and affectionately pats |
| perhaps! | | | | the comely's head and then moves across the |
| And I? Well, I have my own two hands to | | | | table to sit by our man. Our man slings his hand |
| embrace myself and my upper lip to lock with the | | | | across the other's shoulder and the bonhomie is |
| lower one and Mrs Palmer and her five daughters | | | | instantly contagious. I think of my time as a |
| to join in a closer union should I feel the need. It | | | | younger chap and how my friends and I would |
| wasn't like this always and won't be like this | | | | meet. Our man and his pal sit, backs to me, |
| always either for fortune rolls like this ball upon | | | | comely facing me. |
| which we make merry and sometimes shed | | | | ...They are deep in embrace - man and man - |
| tears. | | | | comely watches, her face still, somewhat stern. |
| Do I feel alone? Perhaps! But, that's not important | | | | Sudenly, I sense tears, a napkin is drawn and |
| for surely, there are millions like me, too! I, do, | | | | moved to our man's face...The other (man) holds |
| however, recall one evening at a pub... | | | | for a bit and another napkin finds a way to his |
| When I sat alone, sipping gingerly at my frothy, | | | | face... |
| feeling a touch a/lone/ly. I confess, I love beer, | | | | More embracing, more crying....it's open |
| especially the non-glycerine variety but the cold of | | | | now...comely is silent, her eyes at a point between |
| the beer gets to my throat and most of it to my | | | | the two men. I wonder if she's given the |
| belly, thankfully leaving at least a teeny-weeny bit | | | | ultimatum and is ready to walk...and, this is his last |
| for my head. On the large video screen, there | | | | chance to redeem himself in her eyes... |
| were Formula 1 cars zooming in and out of view. | | | | Another napkin is drawn, this time by comely. It |
| Music was a touch sentimental but appropriate for | | | | lands on the table and she doodles. My eys cannot |
| my then-state of mind. In walks a squat-built guy | | | | gore through the two bodies that stick and then |
| with a comely in tow. I look at them, their | | | | unstick, to the paper that holds the key to |
| apparent joie de vivre and feel sorry for myself. I | | | | comely's mind. I resist the temptation to rise and |
| am past the golden mean in years and my career | | | | snoop. |
| is nowhere. I can't blame anyone, perhaps not | | | | My mind is on them - two men and the woman |
| even myself, because I never was a careerist | | | | with them...my pain has dissolved in their tears. |
| (being happy writing poems that no one wanted | | | | I wonder who the lovers are. Our man is! And? |
| to read and prose that no one wanted to publish) | | | | The woman or the man? |
| and to desire any of it now meant being a fool, | | | | Suddenly I know the answer to the riddle! Our |
| which was how I felt. | | | | man needs comely. He loves the other. |
| This fella looks like he's going places, doing well at | | | | I wonder if man can really love woman? Is it love |
| work and so on. He sits at a table within touching | | | | or is it need disguised as love? |
| distance from mine, his companion opposite him | | | | I think of the women I have loved...and love... |