Thursday, 2 July 2020

Candyfloss, Sun Oil, and the Rest is History

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber

Today's poem first appeared on the blog in 2013. Life is not the same as it was then, of course, as we continue to do battle with the Covid-19 coronavirus and need to be careful out there, especially on crowded beaches ...  Me, I will avoid overcrowded beaches until the viral threat is finally over and/ or we have a vaccine proven effective and safe.

A young neighbour once commented to the effect that that growing old must be very boring, with nothing better to do than trawl Memory Lane…

Well, I take his point although I know of many a feisty 70+ year-old enjoying all sorts of Encounters of the Third Age…

As for me, well, yes, I do often trawl Memory Lane,itis worth bearing in mind that memories don't create themselves ... wry bardic grin

I well recall a usually taciturn teacher of metalwork at my old school occasionally getting passionate about the art of creating something with our own hands. It was a brave attempt to convince generations of cynical teenagers how all the sweat, tears, imagination and passion that has gone into its making will last forever and we have but to glance at it to relive the experience all over again…

We seniors may well trawl Memory Lane, but it doesn’t have to be boring. Dear me, no …

CANDYFLOSS, SUN OIL, AND THE REST IS HISTORY

It was a back
that would have stood out
in any old crowd

Candyfloss shirt,
three quarter khaki shorts
exposing calves
created by nature, designed
for roving eyes

It was a front
that would have stood out
in any old crowd

Candyfloss shirt
unbuttoned to a waistline
made for a catwalk,
exposing a chest
created by nature, designed
for roving eyes

It was a back
that would have stood out
in any old crowd

Candyfloss shirt
treating me to a wicked smile,
exposing an interest
in that certain way
created by nature, designed
for lovemaking

Sun bleached curls
tumbling like yellow roses
crowding a trellis

Candyfloss shirt
treating me to a wicked smile,
exposing an interest
in that certain way
created by nature, designed
for lovemaking

Invisible hands,
begin rubbing sun oil into me,
back and front

Back to front,
I dare say we’d have stood out
in any old crowd
we feisty ghosts
homing in on Memory Lane
for the duration

Copyright R. N. Taber 2013 (rev.2019)

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