Eternal Youth

Those convinced that self-absorbed
vanity is the sole precinct of the
young are not wrong, nor are they
necessarily correct. Take the pretty
young sales clerk, arrow-straight body
slender in a tuxedo-styled jacket tightly
topping slender trousers, almost
tripping over her insubstantial self
in eagerness to be of service, giggling
self-deprecatingly over her sweet
clumsiness, perhaps anticipating an
understanding chuckle from the
stoutly aged pair confronting her 
over the jewellery showcase. Their
blank, grey frowns restore the young
woman to the sobriety of her service
and she withdraws one tray of
sparkling gem-laden rings after
another, for the sharp-eyed appraisal
of the dowdily-clad connoisseurs
the elderly husband silent but approving,
prepared to fully indulge the conceit of
the woman whose girth and passive-
aggressive entitlements of age and
circumstance match his own. Each 
seeing memory fashion an illusion 
for their eyes only of a time and an
intimate conquest that informs them
evermore of blissfully eternal youth.