A MEMORY FROM MY ADOLESCENCE

I vividly remember how once leaving

school in my mid-teens, I sat in a bus

standing on a bus stop, as people slowly

flowed in, gazing at the small town street,

when a blonde woman, perhaps around

thirty, a cute looking ordinary young

woman (to my now middle-aged self),

came walking briskly down the opposing

sidewalk, approaching under trees in full

dark green leaf, her red dress flowing,

a bag hanging from a shoulder in a long

strap. At first she was to my bored

mind yet another person towards whom

I had no interest beyond observing their

existence, and then I suddenly noticed her

ample cleavage, the big breasts bouncing 

so that even I knew immediately there

was no bra binding them, my hungering

eyes fixed in their rapid movement up

and down and sideways. beckoning; 

I hadn't seen a more lovely bosom.

Yet, after five or six seconds or so

I turned my gaze away, sheepishly,

ashamed of myself, feeling I had done

some terrible act by observing her

as I did, becoming a dirty Peeping

Tom, a filthy beast, like those boys

who had made a hole in the wall

between showers in the school.

I had no right to oogle her, that was

sure; and now, my aged self thinks

why didn't you keep watching, you stupid

adolescent boy. Ten more seconds,

most, and she would have been beyond

your window, and your life, forever,

her flesh to be touched by more mature

hands of her own choosing, hands

that would know what to do with them. 

Ten more seconds of bountiful movement

that wouldn't have harmed anyone,

delighted you, if you would have been

me. But you weren't, blushing there.

She wouldn't have known nor cared;

her face looking determined, some

suddenly horny schoolboy gazing

at her bosom hardly concerning her,

one who probably had forgotten

to do the laundry, was in a hurry,

and thought little of mammary glands

moving up and down unbound

when more important things called.

Too much is made out of breasts

and all other parts of human flesh.

Yet, thirty years later she still walks

briskly down that street in my

memory, forever young, her big

breasts bouncing as she goes.

I rather think she would laugh

if she would know, shake her

head, and think no more of it, as

men, young and old, are fools.

22.10.-07.11.2023

#Poem #Poems #Poetry #Verse