Years From Seventeen
Poem by James Mills
I didn't know the word then,
now I know that you were - buxom.
Blonde mane loose, those brown clips
were meant for sisters, spinsters,
At seventeen, I know you loved me.
You wrecked my pre-punk hair
with long, red fingernails.
I'd have resented that from others,
I know, because you
called me by my name.
other barmaids said Love,
or son, forgot I reddened easily,
Last night- years from seventeen,
we laughed about my crush.
Tears hung in your blue eyes. You said
how old you'd grown - Oh, no.
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