Looking For Love Poem by David Lewis Paget

We married when we were just nineteen,
I thought her a perfect catch,
We'd fallen in love on the day she came
To watch, at a football match,
I'd fallen badly, injured my leg
And was subbed in the second half,
She came to the dressing room, and tied
My leg with her silken scarf.

She said that she was a trainee nurse
And practice was better than none,
I told her I was a graduate,
I'd be limping from now on,
We took a seat at a coffee shop
And stayed for the afternoon,
As I gazed at her dark brown eyes and hair,
And she smiled at me in the gloom.

Our romance whirled us on at a pace
That was breathless, with content,
Whatever our fate would hold for us
We were sure that it was meant,
I ceased to notice the other girls,
And she looked only at me,
We tied the knot on a fresh Spring morn
As we stood by a willow tree.

We made our home in a city flat
Close to her hospital,
I studied and crammed for my Ph.D.
Not counting the cost at all,
But soon we were way behind in the rent
And moved on out to the burbs,
Life was more difficult than we'd thought,
We grew our own veggies, and herbs.

She worked three shifts, and came home tired,
And I would study all night,
Then one came in as the other went out,
I felt that it wasn't right,
We argued then, and we made it up,
Then we argued a little more,
She said she'd go to her parents then,
But I just barred the door.

We'll just have to work it out, ' I said,
'We can't go giving up now,
I know that I love you, Sylvia,
And things will improve, somehow.'
'I love you too, but it's such a mess, '
She cried, and dabbed at her tears,
'There's not enough money to buy a house
And there won't be, not for years.'

I shelved my studies, applied for a job,
The money was not very good,
I'd studied for years, and there was I
In a sawmill, cutting wood.
I suddenly felt resentful then
To be wed to a low-paid nurse,
She'd lost that spark in her eyes that said
I love you, better or worse.

We slowly drifted apart, she'd work
An extra shift when she could,
While I would prowl in the nightclubs
Where the folk were up to no good.
I drank a lot, got bleary eyed,
Came home, hung-over and grim,
While Sylvie began to ignore me,
Often went out as I came in.

One night at a Club, I saw a girl
Blonde hair and the bluest eyes,
Dolled up in a mini skirt so short
It attracted all the guys,
She danced and shimmied around the room
And giggled and seemed like fun,
She made me think of my Sylvie
Now that the spark and the fun had gone.

Each Wednesday night I saw this girl,
But she never looked at me,
I grew obsessed as I followed her,
It compounded my misery.
I'd get up close and she'd whirl away
And dance with another guy,
I'd like to have gone and talked to her
But I guess I was feeling shy.

For weeks I had tried, got close to her
But then couldn't squeeze out a word,
I felt myself falling in love again
But knew that was quite absurd,
For Sylvie was there at the back of my mind,
I couldn't quite block her out,
But then when the blonde whirled past again
My heart would jump into my mouth.

There came the day that I followed her home,
She lived in the burbs, like me,
We both caught the number seventeen
Though she was ahead of me,
I sat at the back and hid myself,
We came to my usual stop,
Then to my surprise, the blonde stood up
Walked down the aisle and got off.

I wasn't that far behind her then
But she hurried away, and ran,
I thought it strange, and increased my pace
But she left me behind at the Strand.
She turned the corner, into my street
But then she had disappeared,
My heart was pounding, I almost ran...
Could it be what I really feared?

I walked unsteadily into the house,
But stopped at the kitchen door,
For there was Sylvie, a wig in her hand
A blonde that I'd seen before,
She grinned at me, popped her contacts out
And said, 'Hi, where have you been? '
Then laughed, and I saw my Sylvie again
As I'd seen her at just nineteen.

We made the most passionate, frantic love
With her blonde wig back in place,
'I thought that I'd teach you a lesson, ' she said,
With a sly look on her face.
And since that day I've been cured of straying,
Each time she comes through the door,
She's a blonde, brunette, a redhead yet...
What red-blooded man could want more?

8 April 2009