I learned the truth at seventeen,
that love was meant for beauty queens
and high school girls with clear skinned smiles
who married young and then retired.
The Valentines I never knew,
the Friday night charades of youth
were spent on one more beautiful.
At seventeen I learned the truth. 

And those of us with ravaged faces,
lacking in the social graces,
desperately remained at home
inventing lovers on the phone,
who'd call to say, "Come dance with me"
and murmur vague obscenities.
It isn't all it seems
at seventeen. 

A brown-eyed girl in hand-me-downs
whose name I never could pronounce
said, "Pity, please, the ones who serve.
They only get what they deserve."
The rich-relationed hometown queen
marries into what she needs-
A guarantee of company.
A haven for the elderly. 

Remember, those who win the game
lose the love they sought to gain.
Indebentures of quality
and dubious integrity.
Their small town eyes will gape at you
in dull surprise when payment due
exceeds accounts received,
at seventeen. 

To those of us who know the pain
of Valentines that never came,
and those whose names were never called
when choosing sides for basketball.
It was long ago and far away.
The world was younger than today.
and dreams were all they gave for free
to ugly duckling girls like me. 

We all play the game and when we dare,
we cheat ourselves at solitaire.
Inventing lovers on the phone.
Repenting other lives unknown
that call and say, "Come dance with me",
and murmur vague obscenities
at ugly girls like me,
at seventeen.