The Lady in Line 

I’ve heard it said,

first true love is

love never to be

forgotten.

If this be the case,

though fifty-eight

years having gone,

I then am living

testament insomuch

as not a day has passed

where my mind

has not imaged,

no matter how swift

the thought,

not a day has passed

without the remembrance

of the girl, then sixteen,

that so entwined the

heart of this boy then

seventeen.

Fifty-eight years of absence,

I know,

changes the sound

and sight of even one so

dearly loved that::

I and the lady in line,

oh, a year or two younger

than me, speak of the

headline of a gossip rag

and both laugh at the

absurdity,

as who really

cares of the ridiculous

antics of this or of any

out of touch celebrity?

I and the lady in line have a

friendly, comical conversation

then she pays what is due

and the lady and I say our

goodbyes and with not a

backward glance,

the cart she holds wheels

from out the store and I

and the lady part,

more than likely

for ever more.

A year or two younger,  

the departing lady brings

thought of the one that

had never left my mind

and though I know the lady

in line 

is not the girl from out my

past!

The lady in line

could not be the girl from out my past!

But, in truth,

the lady in line could be the girl from

out my past as she, then sixteen,

and me, then seventeen,

and now,

as fifty-eight years are past,

how would I know her face?

How would she know my face?

The lady in line?

The old lady in line

could be the girl

from out the past.

The lady in line

could be the girl

from out the past,

the girl, then sixteen

the boy, then seventeen

could be the girl.

The lady in line?

As she would not know my face

as I would not know her face,

this lady in line could be the girl

this now old man has never forgotton.

The lady in line,

the old lady line could be the girl

this now old man has always loved.