In 1983
Debbie Priestner laughed at my jokes at a party.
Martin Toal fancied her and moved in for the kill
But she only chatted to him partly
And sat with me still.
That evening, walking home alone,
I wondered should I seek her house, ask her out, telephone?
Maybe later in the week she'd be convinced.......
I dithered......and I haven't seen her since.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem