C'Est La Vie (Say the Old Folk)

It was a teenage wedding.
Eight months on – all the richer;
two goldfish, three rabbits,
a guinea-pig and one set of twins.

Where did they go – those
swinging sixties?

I muddled through
until the seventies.

Burned my bras;
hippie-clad, welcomed
flower-power, open-armed –
staunch believer, as I was,
in so called ‘free-love’.

Came the eighties – husband,
a North Sea Tiger; away...
more often than not. Kids
all grown up, I undid
my apron-strings, binned
‘Happy Families’; sowed
wild oats in pastures new.

He came home for good,
by and by, and I’d slip
into him – he into me,
like one dips inside
a well thumbed book;
intriguing...

even though
you’ve read it before –
know it by heart,
line by line; each word,
exclamation and question mark,
hyphen, comma, and full-stop.

Another age dawns –
one Friday afternoon;
he’s just returned
from picking up our pension –

suggests a ‘siesta’.
Indiscretions – forgiven,
forgotten. Time to begin,
a brand new chapter. Goes
to show (you never can tell).