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 13th 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.