Blondes

He liked blondes.
This was why, at first, he talked to me,
testing his most charming lines –
the paragon of courtesy.

Perceiving a lost cause before too long
he moved on to the other one
(not as tall but just as nice)
whose straight hair wisped and shone.

Its honey deepened in his gaze,
her doe face glowed, but it wasn’t to be –
just two weeks later, lounging on the lawn,
I saw him with blonde number three.

Behold, the longest locks (and fairest) of us all
a veritable ringlet waterfall.
Her slim arm curved across his back
then curled around his knee.

Not my type, I thought again, and it was true,
but envied them, just then, that easy grace –
the feathered sun, the yellow air
brilliant in her pale hair.