At 17- Janis Ian


I learned the truth at 17,
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 17 I learned the truth.

And those of us with ravaged faces,
Lacking in the social graces,
Desperately remained alone,
Inventing lovers on the phone,
Who'd call to say come dance with me,
And murmer vague obscenities,
It isn't all it seems, at 17.

A brown-eyed girl in hand-me-downs,
Whose name I never could pronounce,
Said 'pretty please, the ones who serve,
They only get what they deserve.

And the rich relationed hometown queen,
Marries into what she needs,
With a guarantee of company,
And haven for the elderly.

Remember those who win the game,
Lose the love they sought to gain,
In debentures of quality, and dubious integrity.
The small town eyes will gape at you in dull surprise,
When payment due… Exceeds accounts received
At 17.

To those of who knew 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 the gay for free,
to ugly duckling girls like me.

We all play the game when we dare,
To cheat ourselves it's all a tear,
Inventing lovers on the phone,
Repenting other lives unknown,
Who'd call to say come dance with me,
And murmer vague obscenities at ugly girls like me,
At 17.


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~© 2000 Animonique~