Not Me

Who could have imagined

I’d be sitting here

on my numb ass

in this stuffy, gray, meeting room

hunched over

a big shiny boardroom table

discussing the customer response

to our security of supply

business continuity plan and rollout

instead of on the latest research vessel

out of Woods Hole collecting

phytoplankton and zooplankton,

jellyfish larva and sea urchin eggs,

like I was planning and hoping to do

way back in the beginning?

Who? Not me certainly. Not me.


Silly, naive girl

She rejected him, plain and simple as that,

when he moved in on her,

slid up against her

in the back seat of the car.

She nudged him away, firmly,

and moved in the opposite direction,

putting some space between them.


On this impulsive first blind date of hers

she had no intention, no inclination, no desire,

to engage in any romance whatsoever,

she had all the romance she could handle with me,

her real boyfriend at the time.


I suppose she was simply curious

about other guys and wanted to have some fun

at a ball game or the movies. Silly, naive girl.

There’s not a guy on the planet

who wouldn’t give anything

to get his hands on her.

Some fun at a game or the movies – HA!


I always tell you that

I watch you closely

from across the playground,

helping Brooke up the jungle gym

then back down again,

your black top and soft beige slacks

still brimming with beauty,

simmering with sensuality

even after all these years –

and you don’t even know!

I tell you of course, I cannot help myself.

But you are too modest to hear,

too modest to acknowledge my adulation,

reminding me, “Oh, you always tell me that.”

Yes, yes, I do. I do always tell you that,

can you blame me? Just look at you!

You are quite simply

the most beautiful woman I have ever seen

and I am now, as ever, ecstatic

that you are still mine.

But I cannot help wondering if suddenly

I were no longer around

telling you of your beauty, your sweetness,

your limitless sensuality,

and how important you are to me

and what a superlative woman you are,

would you miss hearing it? I wonder.

Would you miss me at all?


Michael Estabrook is a baby boomer who began getting his poetry published in the late 1980s. Over the years he has published 15 poetry chapbooks, his most recent entitled “When the Muse Speaks.” Other interests include art, music, theatre, opera, and his wife who just happens to be the most beautiful woman he has ever known.

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