Stain

There’s a red stain on my T-shirt, I’m not really sure what it is,
It’s probably ketchup or strawberry jam, but I dream it was left from your kiss.
Off it goes into the machine, with boxers and socks I have worn,
These modern powders are so very good, that soon my dream will be gone.

There’s a ringing in my ears, the sound of the telephone,
Maybe it’s you who’s calling me up, to say that your sad and alone,
I take the call and a voice says hello, it’s good to talk to you son,
And as my hope runs out of the door, it’s great to speak with my mum.

While I was out shopping the other day, I smelt a familiar smell,
It was the perfume that you used to wear, and girl you wore it so well,
I looked around and a stranger I saw, the girl was admittedly sweet,
Well she caught my stare and started to glare, so I quickly made my retreat.

Well some men they find fortune, and some men they find fame,
  But all I get is a life of regret, and a t-shirt, with a stain.

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© R.Myers