was there an apple
waiting on that thirteen
inch screen or simply the
future set out in black and white

the page boy not quite blonde
hair that languished on the
                                                        pillow
in clumps around the not quite
                                                               perfect
teeth of what once was beauty

of all the rings that ringing rang
against the rubaiyat red of oh so
                                                               forbidden
fruit and his hand ‘gainst the small
of that elegant aching back while
all the while angst made its way
frame to frame up the winding
                                                              tree
of knowledge loss and Liebestod

middle age not quite admitted
youth not withstanding and
                                                         Eve
still a girl of twenty four at twenty
four forty years ago

forty 
          years
ago

© s rogers 22 Jan 2009