A performance piece – plenty of opportunity for innuendo and frivolity  🙂



And so, Alison?

Where to begin?


We met in Skeggy

It was love at first sight-ish for me.


She wound the window down

And waved from her car

With a wide-mouth smile

Evoking summer freshness

Crisp white cotton shorts…

…Tennis courts.


Heaven’s answer

To a thousand prayers

For a friend, a soul mate.

If all else failed,

Perhaps, even, a wife.


I crossed to her brand new Subaru

Mouthing, “Hotlegs42?”


Alison looked me down and up

Up and down and frowned.


“You’re not UntamedTiger54

You look nothing like the picture,

You sent me before.”


I was bursting for a leg over

And I did not want to lose her

With the inconvenient truth

That my profile photos

Were taken by a studio pro,

Over seven years ago,

When I was four stones lighter

And my black hair

Hadn’t faded to grey.


He was not cheap.

But well worth the extra

For the solvent, outdoor, beach hunk,

Beefcake, own teeth, cat lover look,

Certain to score with desperate women

Scouring the web for a bloke to snare


So I lied and said,

“That one was taken a month ago

My mate caught me just right.

It was a good light.”


Alison snorted, tossed me a peach,

“Coffee? Walk on the beach?”


I rolled up my trousers

As we paddled in the shallows 

Preferring lagging a little behind

Comparing her pert derriere

With the shape of the fruit

Cupped in my hand.


I took a succulent bite,

And a jet of juice

Shot over my chinos,

And the ironed front of my

Primark ‘value’ granddad shirt.


We sat at a beachside café,

Chocolate chip cappuccino for her,

And the same for me.


White froth lined my moustache

And Alison laughed,

Toyed with her hair,

Made significant eye contact,

And tapped my arm, twice.


‘You’re well in here, Tiger, back of the net!’


She was shop-worn for forty-two,

But passable.

And with lights off and curtains drawn?

She’d more than do.


We strolled the sand holding hands.

Watching the sun setting.

Weighing the chances…


Night after night we tumbled together

Sharing wines, chocolate and cheeses,

And body fluids copiously.


To round off our summer fling

We chose a weekend in Berlin.


It sounded swell…

And, the knell

Of our sunshine summer

Of making hay and rolling in it.


Alison filled out the passport forms,

“Leave it all to me.”


All went smoothly until, 

“Date of birth?”


 I rubbed my neck,

“Not sure… I’ll have to check.”


“You are fifty four?”


“Yeah well… no well… kinda… sorta.”


She found my bus pass and flung it at me,

“This means you must be sixty friggin’ three,

Are you a sodding pensioner?”


“Yeah, but no, I retired early.

I didn’t think it worth a mention.”


Screaming, “Lying bastid, typical man!”

Alison stormed out slamming the door and

Tossed her screwed up form to the floor.


It turns out she was just like me,

Next week, her birthday,

Fifty rotten three!



© coolhermit 2023
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I once thought of going on match.com but baulked for the very reasons outlined here. made me smile – usually a rare feat without major surgery. Mitch


I agree, Rick. I have done a few open mikes but I am concentrating on solo performing my songs for the very same reason as the audience reaction tells you if you are polishing a turd or not. I think I will repost Flash America as two very fat American ‘poets’ in the poetry group I tried to join (before I realised what a collection of pretious *****s they were) tried to lynch me afterwards. Mitch


This, Rick, did the trick. Light, bright and slick!
When I was first divorced (’93) I tried dating adverts in local papers. Some of the ‘turn-ups’ I walked by and kept walking breathing a prayer of thanks. ‘Well rounded’ I learned meant severely obese. ‘forty something’ could be stretched to 60. One woman seemed fine until she was on her second bottle of red then she turned into a female rapist with a foul mouth. (Odour and language) Left me wondering where the hell is St. George when you need him?
Brought back as few memories there mate thanks.


Haha loved it, never tried those dating site thingies, would hate someone to be struck dumb with disappointment when they saw me, blindness would work, but never disappointment.lol. Great write 🙂


V. funny and acute about false illusion and growing old.

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