Janis Ian

I learned the truth at seventeen
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 seventeen I learned the truth

And those of us with ravaged faces
Lacking in the social graces
Desperately remained at home
Inventing lovers on the phone

Who called to say "Come dance with me."
And murmured and vague obsenities
It isn't all it seems
At seventeen

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

And the rich-relationed home-town queen
Who married 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

Their small-town eyes will gape at you
In dull surprise when payment due
Exceeds accounts recieved
At seventeen.

To those of us 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
When dreams were all they gave for free
To ugly-duckling girls like me.

We all play the game and when we dare,
We cheat ourselves at solitaire,
Inventing lovers on the phone,
Repenting other lives unknown,

Who called to say "Come dance with me,"
And murmured vague obsenities
At ugly-duckling girls like me,
At seventeen.


~Janice Ian