I suspect I posted this before. But today I was feeling particularly sad. It was the combination of the nasty weather, the early darkness, the loneliness of being alone. It is a poem, not good, not worthy of publication (perhaps), but it was written at a time when my loneliness was just beginning. Three years is a short time when compared to the fifty + I had with Paul.
THE GIRL IN THE STANDING PANTS
His eyelids were leaden
His body wracked by weariness
He had too long been here
Nature whence he came was summoning him
The woman beside his bed faded
Gray
hair and wrinkled skin morphed into youth
His brow furrowed
His
lips spread recalling the first time he saw her
He the new shy student
She
seemingly secure in her too tight pants
Both were standing
She amid her group
He at the edges
Urged
to sit he shrank back with mumbled refusal
She
without a hint of self- consciousness
"I can't. I'm wearing my standing pants."
He knew then; he knew now
He
wanted the girl in the standing pants
