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.
