FOXED AND FOLDED

i bought it in 1968 - it cost five shillings -

a paperback book of love poetry.  
the cover (psychedelic orange, 
pink and purple) still glows hopefully,

like an old dear in a gaudy cardigan.

the years have foxed the pages

deep brown.  corners are folded over,

so brittle they almost part.  i marked

the poems which spoke to me when i was twenty.  

not any more.  i read them now 
with a cold, discerning eye:

impatient with mismatched lines, loose

undisciplined sentiments.  
how harsh i've become!

i open the book at random, read:

'Here is an answer to play with:

the fire is dead.'

yes - too apt for comfort.  the years

which burned these pages brown

have all but burned me dry.  like this book,

my corners are turned over 

marking something which no longer matters.