David, Late-Night Shopping (poetry)

I would have known you anywhere -
the same thick shock of near-blond hair
unthinned by years.
No bald patch yet, no grey, receding line:
you look untouched.

I stand, discreet, beside tin tiers
and watch you choose your dinner;
picking packets from the chiller,
stooped low, intent on your cold task.

My own list crumpled in my fist,
I conjure that boy-paragon.
Your brown-but-never-grubby knees
that shared a double desk with me,
your creaseless books with margins ticked
and starred with gold - ten out of ten
predictable, your clever grin
knowing all the answers then.

Is life so neat and full of praise
these crowded, krypton factor days?

Close behind you in the check-out queue,
your suited shoulders haunt my view;
your curling nape the same as when
I sent that fifties valentine,
its blushing heart unsigned
and shy of kisses.

The girl rings up a pile of frozen snacks,
the individual pizzas sit, cling-wrapped,
and a solitary , blood-bruised steak
denies what I expect - the family pack.
You write a cheque. I stare at your frayed cuff
guessing your IQ was not enough
to guarantee success.

(Note: First published under the name Jean M. Thomas)