I didn't know the word then, <br />now I know that you were - buxom. <br />Blonde mane loose, those brown clips <br />were meant for sisters, spinsters, <br />never you. <br /> <br />At seventeen, I know you loved me. <br />You wrecked my pre-punk hair <br />with long, red fingernails. <br />I'd have resented that from others, <br />never you. <br /> <br />I know, because you <br />called me by my name. <br />other barmaids said Love, <br />or son, forgot I reddened easily, <br />never you. <br /> <br />Last night- years from seventeen, <br />we laughed about my crush. <br />Tears hung in your blue eyes. You said <br />how old you'd grown - Oh, no. <br />Never you.<br /><br />James Mills<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/years-from-seventeen/
