Alison

 

 

Alison

 

and so, Alison?
where to begin?

we met in Skeggy

it was lust at first sight for me when
she wound down the window
and waved from her car

 

her wide-mouth smile
evoked summer freshness
crisp white cotton shorts…
…tennis courts.

 

heaven’s answer
to a thousand prayers
for a friend, a soul mate - or
if all else failed
perhaps a wife

 

I crossed to her brand new Subaru
mouthing, “hotlegs42?”

 

she looked me up and down and frowned
“you can’t be Untamed54
you’re nothing like the photograph
you sent me before”

 

I fancied her rotten
and did not want to lose her
with the truth - that my profile photos
were taken by a studio pro,
seven years before
when I was four stones lighter
and my long black hair
hadn’t faded to grey

 

the snapper was well worth the extra -
he certainly captured the solvent,
outdoor, beach hunk, beefcake,
own teeth, cat lover look,
certain to score with desperate widows
and cougars after a geezer to snare

 

so I lied and said,
“they were taken six weeks 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
to paddle in the shallows
lagging a little behind
comparing her pert derriere
with the fruit cupped in my hand

 

I took a succulent bite,
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
froth lined my moustache

Alison laughed, toyed with her hair,
made significant eye contact
and tapped my arm, twice

 

she looked well weathered for forty-two,
but with lights off and curtains drawn
she’d more than do

 

we strolled the sand holding hands
admiring the sun set,
weighing the chances…

 

night after night we tumbled together
sharing wines, chocolate and cheeses,
and body fluids copiously

 

we chose a weekend break
to round off our summer fling
Alison fancied Berlin

 

it sounded swell… and the knell
of our sunshine summer
of making hay and rolling in it

 

Alison sorted the passport forms
all went well… until,

“date of birth?”

 

I rubbed my neck,
“can’t remember, I’ll have to check”

 

“you are fifty four?”
“yeah well… no well… kinda… sorta.”

 

she found my bus pass, flung it at me,
“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”

 

shouting, “lying bastid, typical fellah”
Alison left me, tossing
her screwed up form to the floor

 

it turned out she was just like me,
next week, her birthday,
fifty rotten three!