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Old Love

She soaked him up

Like water in a sponge.

Saturated

She went to a bar

Had casual sex

Got squeezed

Then went back for more.

Satre, Kerouac, Cohen

Horizons that exploded

In her small town mind.

They drank to forget the words

Made love in a fug of helpless hope.

Talked about marriage

"Why not? Why the fuck not?"

In an existential kind of way.

Then the love affair

She was having

With the words

That tripped

From his lips

Was over.

Her thirst slaked.

 

They met again in '95

By accident at Waterloo

He - an uncivil servant, 2 kids, new build.

She - still looking for a breeze to

Rifle her silky sails.

◄ Why cant she write poems....?

No wedding? ►

Comments

<Deleted User> (16099)

Wed 23rd May 2018 00:01

1970 for you..I could of done better.....great write....

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Hazel ettridge

Wed 2nd May 2018 21:09

Cynthia, sometimes I just have to tie myself to the bloody mast!

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Cynthia Buell Thomas

Wed 2nd May 2018 11:55

Splendid poem, Hazel, tender and tough at the same time - like 'living' - period. Honesty first, beautiful phrasing next - the combination - sheer dynamite. Superb ending - beautifully conceived - so honest, and sad - definitely sad. But that was almost 25 years ago! I sure hope you are 'making your own breeze' these days.

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Hazel ettridge

Tue 1st May 2018 23:09

Ah Graham, yes there was something I could not eradicate, even though he seemed to have trimmed all of his glorious mystery away like an overgrown moustache.

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Graham Sherwood

Tue 1st May 2018 09:07

It’s true Hazel, you always remember your first. No regrets, experience is a wonderful thing in hindsight.

Was he worth remembering after you met again?

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Hazel ettridge

Tue 1st May 2018 08:42

Frances, Brian and Adam, thank you for the likes.

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Hazel ettridge

Tue 1st May 2018 08:41

Thank you for your comment Anya (and i always enjoy your comments on other people's poems too). This was my first great love in 1970! He opened my eyes to a rich and mysterious world and he still visits my dreams nearly 50 years on.

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