Unrequited Love

In the quietude of memory
appears a cameo of enduring love
Mary's face
at Swinburne many years ago.

Although separated
by my shyness
we attended life class together
once a week.

From an easel
I could se her black curly head
turning
red lips laughing.

Tormented
I escaped every model break
to the local pub
and gulped a glass of beer.

I was elated
when Mary asked me to dance
at a get-together
in the art school studio.

I held he soft, warm hand
and gently placed
my arm
around her slender waist.

She accepted an invitation
to a party
in the billiards room
of my home.

When she arrived
by tram
I felt blissful and hopeful
as I showed her around.

But I neglected her
while drinking beer with the boys
fatally assuming
she was happily chatting.

I realised later
she didn't drink
and barely knew
any of the girls, who did.

My mood changed
abruptly
when Mary told me coldly
she was leaving.

Devastated
I pleaded with her
but she stormed away
enraged.

Disillusioned
by a stillborn love
I stumbled through my final year
to graduate.

Later
I plucked up courage
telephoned
and heard her say

I love you
I loved you
and will always love you
before hanging up.

I telephoned repeatedly
speaking only
to her cold, daunting mother
never to Mary.

A few years later
I saw her near a railway station
but when I approached
she wasn't there.