A new poem: Rita Hayworth on the station

This was originally written for an experimental multi-author poetry site where specific rules are given as to the form a poem should take.  In this case the instructions included a view across a station from one platform to another, mentioning Rita Hayworth.  As readers of my other blogs will know, I am something of a fan of Miss Hayworth, so this was irresistible.

At the station
Standing idling till the train comes
That will take me home

I look across
At the other side
Where a train has just stopped
Disgorging the young whose day begins as mine ends
Crowding into town in their lemming-like rush
To drink
To dance
To find in a brief fumble up against a wall
The closest they will come to transcendance

But they don’t think of transcendance
So taken up are they in the moment and themselves
That they see their scrawny bodies eroticism far exceeding Rita Hayworth
In their dull couplings a flame to outdo Bogie and Bacall
Or at least they would if they knew their names

So arrogant
So certain is youth
That they cannot see that to a jaded man
Of not quite middle age
The memory image of Rita Hayworth’s body
Her face
Her lips
Her all powerful breasts
Might rival and even overpower their over exposed charms
Such is youth
And so was I when young
But I fear for them
For when they are like me
Not quite old and not quite young
With no Rita no Lauren or Katharine
Who will they have to bring some cheer into the greyness of the everyday

We have left behind the era of the gods
Bequeathing to our children a world we made without them
We thought that godlessness was better
But without the gods can there be a soul?


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