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If you ever meet an old flame from long ago when you were young and silly, it can be excruciatingly embarrassing.
It was for me.
This actually happened!
My admiration for her soared, even though I was a jabbering idiot.

Nice Weather for the Time of Year

Fdf5205c-8b5b-4da8-a6dc-63fe28d680a9by Billy J. Stewart26 Feb 2014

We met among old friends,
In the church-hall.
I saw you there, just ahead of me, dishing out the soup, Handing out the sandwiches,
As I queued.
Paper plate all a-tremble.
Oh bugger.
It was too late to dive, you’d seen me, and I felt for you,
Felt sorry and embarrassed for you, having to face me again.
Ashamed of myself.
I was a prat back then.
Oh ground open up and let me leap in fast!
It must be thirty years now, but there it is, all raw and unfinished.
Left hanging.
Like raw meat, to fester, all gone rancid and putrid.
I handed you my plate, and scrunched my toes in my boots,
Pretending I was cool, mature and nonchalant.
What a laugh,
Ha, ha, ha.
Napkin to floor, excuse to drop down.
Bending to collect I squeaked out a wee fart,
Then cleaved the head on table edge on the way up.
Suave as ever.
You smiled that mortified smile,
And asked me how things are, ever so politely,
And would I like coffee or tea with that.
Mumbling buffoon, I returned serve - fine, and you?
Nice weather for the time of year.
I slunk off to eat,
And choke on my sausage roll.
Couldn’t grab the flipping thing and it nearly fell.
Oh flamin' Nora, we caught each other looking.
Two minutes later you came over.
You were ever so brave, unlike me.
I wanted to say I was sorry but couldn’t.
Hadn’t the balls like.
But fair play, you talked family, and asked my opinion on jobs or something,
Before returning to the trestle-table duties.
I am so sorry, I am so sorry, Gordon H Bennett, great shovels of shite,
We were only kids, really, then, but….oh heck.
Oh cringe, beam me up.
I was a prat, beam me up.
And capping it all I finally dropped the bloody sausage roll.
I’m not going back up again.
Nice flimmin' weather for the time of year.