[Martin Elster]

A Superannuated Subaltern’s Love Song

Miss J. Hunter Dunn, Miss J. Hunter Dunn,
I recall how you trounced me in tennis. You won
every game we had played. But I’ve since gotten better,
while you have grown plump from the crackers and cheddar,

French fries, Coca-Cola, banana split
which, at last, have removed all the benefit
of your formerly graceful and light-footed traits.
Sad to say, you no longer are one of the greats.

Since we moved to the States, you’ve developed an eye
for potato chips, ice cream, and apple pie,
M&M’s, Dagwood sandwiches, bacon and eggs,
which have turned your lithe, sinewy legs into kegs.

At least you can still toss a ball for our mutt,
even if it is while you are perched on your butt.
Before reaching a ton, I encourage you, hon,
go fly back to Aldershot, promptly, Miss Dunn!