I Wish I Could Take It Back
I wish I could take it back: first time
I gushed and said, “I do.”
But he was oh-so cute, you see,
we danced to the Cutting Crew,
the decade was the eighties, so
my dress was a meringue,
with puffy sleeves and hula hoop,
we drove off in a Mustang.
It wasn’t long before I knew
it wasn’t going to work,
we were both too young to settle down,
and, besides, he was a jerk.
My second husband came at me
with oodles of sex appeal,
his olive skin and sea-green eyes,
made me want to squeal,
the day he got onto one knee
and took my hand in his,
without a second thought, I swooned
and said, “Let’s order fizz!”
The wedding—paid for by his folks!—
was a dazzling, winter affair,
now in the nineties, at least there was no
Flock of Seagulls hair.
Instead, the gel he wore was thick,
his aftershave divine,
I could hardly wait for the honeymoon,
when he would be all mine.
This marriage soon fulfilled its course,
on account of how he strayed,
since quarter past committing to me,
he had played with my bridesmaid.
Number three, I guess I should have known was wrong,
his eyes were close together,
he looked like he’d been caught in the wind,
his face frozen by the weather.
But he called me sugar, stroked my cheek,
his touch, it was electric
within six months, I walked the aisle,
who cared about aesthetics?
Our love affair was hot and fun,
it makes me blush to think,
but all too soon we fizzled out,
and our marriage started to sink.
It’s been said I fall in love too quick,
I need to wait and see
if I really want to go the distance,
if our love is meant to be.
And so I waited for my current beau;
numbers four is the one, I know!
- This is something I wrote a couple of years ago. I came across it yesterday, and thought I’d share it with you. I have to stress, this is not written from personal experience!
The Writer In Me . . . 