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Simon and Stella
Reflections on a Well-Lived Love Life
Stella has had a string of lovers as long as her arm
Most of them, she really loved
At least for a time
There was Clyde, the forester, whose green eyes and wicked smile had always got the best of her
And Davis, the Welshman, who liked to recite Dylan Thomas while he made bread by hand — funny misshapen loaves, heavy as doorstops
And, of course, handsome Bertram — the chemist, although his hypochondria had become a bit tiresome after a while
But no matter the man, Stella would eventually grow bored
And that would be the end of that
By the time she was seventy-five, she gave up men altogether
Choosing, instead, the company of Simon — an old Basset hound with a keen nose and a sound appetite
Isn’t this lovely, Simon, she would say in the mornings, over her cup of Earl Grey
Isn’t it divine to sit in this slant of sunlight in the kitchen and watch the birds?
And Simon would grunt and patiently wait for his toast
And that would be the end of that
I’m too fickle, she’d tell Simon in the evenings, over a little Stilton and a nice glass of Chardonnay
Too easily bored. But they were all delightful men, Simon. I don’t regret a single one of them
And Simon would place a fat paw on her slippered foot and wait for his cheese
And that would be the end of that
