When I sit both my children down
to tell them an enchanting tale
of true love’s first intersection,
I should recollect without fail:
There was a cool mid-summer breeze,
tickling the branches of the trees.
Sweet, calming sounds danced in my ears,
and jolly old drunkards swigged on beers.
I sat on the sunny seafront,
shielding myself from the rays;
supping on a pint of lager,
reflecting on those happy days.
In front of my eyes I admired,
a row of suitors, all very near;
some were less than a mile,
others may have took a little while.
Like an ape ousting a banana skin,
I visually threw some in the bin.
Too tall; too small; round like a beach ball,
a lot to haul, not even on a pub crawl,
Why the fuck is she called Paul?
Back then I didn’t mean to be so blunt,
but people knew me as a bit of a
Shallow Hal – knocking people’s morale.
No wonder I hadn’t loved a gal.
But after swiping through look-awayers,
I found the girl to answer my prayers.
I was astounded by my success,
and how her bum looked in that dress.
I opened with a cocky line,
compared her to a parking fine;
‘Darling are you from this Earth?
You’re supernatural for all it’s worth.’
A deafening silence dawned,
the haggard old drunk yawned,
time tip-toed harshly away,
as my hopes began to decay.
It’s only right to conclude,
by not being bitter or rude,
to say my first love broke me:
buried me thick in debris.
Still I didn’t let my hopes hinder,
my lonely heart did not linger –
we were married the next winter,
even after she blocked me on Tinder!
Created: 7th May 2014
A spoken word poem I wrote for an open mic night, mocking the triviality of Tinder.