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| Love of a Sort © Copyright George Papavgeris, December 2008 Every Monday to Friday One o'clock on the dot They will meet in the café It's their favourite spot From their work equidistant Corner table inside Windowpane glare resistant All the better to hide. Both are very presentable Always dressed to the nines With her makeup immaculate Though it can't hide the lines Their love interest lingers Duty free like cologne But the rings on their fingers Tell a tale of their own. But don't look disapprovingly For you'd be out of court. It's not love as we know it, But it's love of a sort. He would like to be young and cool But just manages suave With an accent from boarding school And a tan from Algarve He's the consummate gentleman Very eager yet warm Like an actor who suddenly Has a chance to perform. She will laugh just too readily At his jokes and his quips Which he tells just too greedily From a well-practised script. But there's something so desperate In the way they hold hands And she always looks desolate When he pays up and stands. And you cannot but wonder If for him it's just sport It's not love as we know it, But it's love of a sort. Was it plan or coincidence That they happened to meet? Were they seeking a victory, Or admitting defeat? Who 's the giver or taker It's not easy to tell Who 's the fraud, who 's the faker And who 's under a spell. So don't jump to your dictum - Things are not what they seem Both aggressor and victim Both lost souls in a dream And it's tender and sordid Sweetness mixed with deceit But the light won't reward it And their secret won't keep. Soon the lunchtime is over And their kisses cut short. It's not love as we know it, But it's love of a sort. |
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