romance on the high seas

Romance on the high Seas.


Met her in an ice cream parlour at the beginning
of Saint Laurent’s street, Montreal, where houses
were modest and people spoke French, yes, it was
a fine day in May. Her name was Lisa and she had
a mystic smile; we went for a walk, soon our hands
were entwined. Saint Laurent is a long street, and we
strolled to where houses are big, have shards of glass
on top of walls, “Beware of the dog” on iron gates;
farmland, trees, grazing cattle and cute horses; then we
ambled back to the part where they spoke French.
In a gift shop I bought her a humble ring, it was small,
but she put it on her little finger, we agreed to meet
again when my ship returned, in a month or so, alas,
the ship sailed for Europe and it was summer time.

Twenty years is a long time, many people had died
the world was renewing itself, I was now master of
my own ship and finally docked in Montreal. Walked
the long street again, so much had changed, modest
houses gone, office blocks instead, the great houses
further up were now boardinghouses, full of people
trying to learn English, and the farm land, exclusive
suburbia, two cars in each driveway. Asked a lady,
out walking her dog, if she was Lisa, surprised, she
said yes and I told her my story, she wore a ring on
her little finger, perhaps it was mine. “Lovely tale”
she said,” but I’m not the Lisa you knew.” Wished
me luck, walked her way. Four golden rings on a blue
uniform, futile now that I shan’t see Lisa again.