Happy 68th birthday MaryAnn Sage - revisited January 12th, 2021

Wherever you might be holed up

within this whirled wide web wassup?

Mein kampf still equals board

hardscrabble existence deplored

analogous to Norwegian bachelor,

whose Lake Wobegon nestled within fjord

forcing me to hoard

memories regarding

our long ago short lived relationship

and mine present married life inured

absolutely zero points

within game of life scored.

Approximately three score

minus seven years ago

this then naïve and innocent

early twenty something,
now a middle aged,

diamond in the rough, jaded

two plus decades slavish

married male did not realize
his fair maiden perfect form,

she a capricorn

(who also shared

same January 13^th birthday as myself,

though a half dozen

years Mycenae senior
hovered in mine immediate proximity,

a mere hello kitty whisker away,
which accompanying cat’s eye

soft nose smart pet appetite

saw me weight tool screwed up
to revere mother of pearl

opal mate ideal beau
now ex post facto finds

yours truly ruing

foregone soul mate to crow

in vain, though I cannot help pining

and lamenting where art thou – dow
ting she (MaryAnn Sage,

a young whirled, wide

webbed childless divorcee,
a couple of years shy of thirty)
ponders whereabouts

of this contemplative, furtive

and intuitive paramour, whence

swooning swain first experienced anew
an alien emotional lightness of being

within mine hardened carapace did brew

a propensity to surmise, intuit,

and detect a romantic joyful dew
drop similar to lovers in dustbin

of historical annals

dipped ‘ere farewell flew
common as the air we breathe,

this new found muse

sic cull passion grew

yet handled with kid gloves,

which lacked the means

to nurture and hue

a novel interpersonal ecstasy,

which with fits and starts knew

tony yen physics manifested

into a mutual attraction
despite any self-admission new

to this chap, whose skills

sans intimacy infantile

and as a result inadvertently caused grief
to a gal, (who valiantly

christened her vehicle Ruby)

hoping to stride down the pew
which outcome thwarted,

now tis much more

sands of mine lifetime
funneled down the

hourglass shaped queue
without any rhyme nor reason

find this bard arse to rue

how a golden opportunity indiscriminately

lost a flickr and sentiments

now akin to culinary

Michelin patschke stew

rather futile to ruminate

the long lapsed travails

that tripped a true

lee darling dame,

whose take on the matter,

this poet would cherish a view

yet….nary a clue exists if any possibility

to revisit that denouement recalling

the awkward fits and starts before

embers of warm reciprocity kindled

reciprocal an ambition to court,

jest and indubitably woo
to flip and shutterfly

at greased lightning speed
back to that contra dance

at Summit Presbyterian Church
at the crossroads of Green

and Westview Avenue.