Wild Oats

About twenty years agoTwo girls came in where I worked -

A bosomy English roseAnd her friend in specs I could talk to.

Faces in those days sparkedThe whole shooting-match off, and I doubt

If ever one had like hers:But it was the friend and I took out,

And in seven years after thatWrote over four hundred letters,

Gave a ten-guinea ringI got back in the end, and metAt numerous cathedral cities

Unknown to the clergy. I believeI met beautiful twice. She was trying

Both times (so I thought) not to laugh.

Parting, after about fiveRehearsals, was an agreement

That I was too selfish, withdrawn,And easily bored of love.

Well, useful to get that learnt.In my wallet are still two snaps

Of bosomy rose with fur gloves on.Unlucky charms, perhaps.

Too nervous to talk to the one he really wants to.

A pen-pal relationship.

He had the courtesy to propose but she refused.

Perhaps trying to make the pretty one jealous.Hunting women.

His downfall.

He doesn't show any sign of regret or even sympathy for the girl in specs.

It's been 20 years – he compares every woman to her photograph.

Objectification.