Never My Love
I never met Jenny Downs at the Friday night lemon-aide dance, never danced the twist to Joey Dee and the Starlighters, never walked her back to her dorm under a golden, grinning moon.
Never strolled arm in arm through Whitney Park tossing hungry squirrels peanuts from a paper sack.
Never learned to braid her long, silky hair on a lazy Sunday afternoon, her head in my lap.
Never made love in her brother's bunk bed, her family at the lake. Never was her first and she was never mine.
Never bought that ring at Goldman's Discount Jewelers on money saved baking crullers on the midnight to seven.
Never married her at St. John's Church with old Father O'Leary mumbling the service, and Jenny's sister warbling "The Two of Us" off key.
Never spent two weeks on our bubble-wrapped, lime-green couch because I forgot our fifth anniversary.
Never knew own twin boys, the bookish Ben and devil-may-care Vince.
You see, Jenny and I, we missed the boat. She had a bad cold that night and I crammed for my bio exam.