You were religious — we all knew,
One of the few Holy Marys in our circle of friends.
You wore a small gold cross around your neck,
While the rest of us were trying to look like Ian Brown or Kurt Cobain.
You scarpered off to mass in the chapel on campus,
And sported black daubings on your forehead on Ash Wednesday.
That didn’t stop you having pre-marital sex, though,
Or drinking with the rest of us to beat the band.
Now I see your picture on LinkedIn.
Your face has grown fuller and you sport a hairdo worthy of a Business Channel or Fox News female anchor.
I gasp at the big hair and think: “Holy fuck: has middle age got its claws dug as deep into me?”