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A Monorhyme for the Shower


Lifting her arms to soap her hair

Her pretty breasts respond – and there

The movement of that buoyant pair

Is like a spell to make me swear

Twenty odd years have turned to air;

Now she’s the girl I didn’t dare

Approach, ask out, much less declare

My love to, mired in young despair.


Childbearing, rows, domestic care –

All the prosaic wear and tear

That constitute the life we share –

Slip from her beautiful and bare

Bright body as, made half aware

Of my quick, surreptitious stare,

She wrings the water from her hair

And turning smiles to see me there.


Dick Davis



© Dick Davis; originally printed in The Hudson
.  Reprinted by permission of the author.


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