Dirty blonde hair,

Dark grey hoodie,

Little breasts,

Spots on her

Perfectly oval face,

Green eyes,

Graceful lips,

Smooth legs,

Tidy bottom,

White short shorts.


My wife looks at her,

Looks at me;


Is young enough

To be your granddaughter.”


She isn’t my granddaughter,

Is she.”


My wife smiles,

Shakes her head.


No hope for me.


The girl

Loads a cardboard tray,


I catch her eye and smile,

She turns away,

With a shy, small smile.


She, I think,

Is almost used to this.


I watch the white short shorts,

As she carries the tray,

To people luckier than I was

At her age.

Published in: on September 4, 2012 at 6:24 pm  Leave a Comment  
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