My grandad used to say I’d had more men than he’d had hot dinners… ;^)
John McEnroe look-a-like
in my friend’s History tutorial.
She fancied you. You fancied
me – your pal told me –
it was second year at uni.
We had a house party.
You invited me to Hall & Oates –
a Daryl fan!
I grimaced at their hits.
Could I go to that?
I did, an aficionada since.
I couldn’t resist your freckles,
green-Ermintrude eyes, height.
And your patter wasn’t shite.
I guffawed the whole night long.
The bedroom walls sung
with shared joy and Bhoy
you were constant, faithful,
You’d worn a red shirt at the concert
to diminish your beetroot face.
You were shy.
Your sister led me to mental health,
your family embraced me in their home.
I’d dry the big pots with your dad
I’d drink Drambuie with your mum,
your nephew landed a ball in my moussaka.
You’re the only man I’ve seen cry
and not because of the score!
It was the last day at uni –
you dumped me!
A fortnight later, I was your partner
at your sister’s wedding.
You wanted me back after
the Best Man asked me to dance
a lot. We were together
Tears For Fears ruled the world.
But I knew someone like you
belonged with someone else.
You were a traditional man.
I have always been unconventional.