An Afternoon in May

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Side by side, they jog,
Muscled young men, sly-eyeing
Women they’d like to meet, pale limbs
Bared to the brazen sun. I recall
A thing you said back when:
You and me, babe, are meant to be.

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We were, and then weren’t.
Clouds build, in the west thunder.
Towels are stowed, people scatter;
I smile, stand to go; the best thing

About getting old? It doesn't matter.

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