Ever had that feeling that you know someone’s face but can’t put a name to it? Trouble is, while you’re working out who it might be, you can’t have a proper conversation with them, and it’s only when they’ve gone that you remember who they were.
Your face is familiar . . . I think we have met,
But when the encounter was, I quite forget.
Was it yesterday, last week or several years past?
You’re not quite the same as when I saw you last.
Have you put on some weight? You used to be lighter;
And that dark hair you had – now it looks a lot whiter.
Oh dear, you’re offended. Well, I would be too
If Time had changed me in the way it’s changed you.
Your name . . . it was just on the tip of my tongue,
But it’s difficult, now that you’re no longer young.
Are you still friends with Whatsname, that weird-looking bloke?
He did like his drink, and he didn’t half smoke.
I don’t think you smoked, though your teeth are quite stained,
And you’re looking so knackered, exhausted and drained –
It must be your skin tone. To put it succinctly,
It looks rather leathery, dried-up and wrinkly.
I’m afraid we must mow call a halt to our meeting,
For my breakfast is ready – it’s time to be eating.
We must meet again soon, when my memory’s clearer.
Same time and same place, then? In front of this mirror?