Sunday morning
and I walk down
the concrete stairs
to Lydia's flat
on the ground floor
over by the end.
I knock on the door;
her mother answers
and stands there
a cigarette
in the corner
of her mouth
and her hair
in a turban
hiding curlers.
Yes?
She says,
eyeing me.
Is Lydia in?
I say.
Yes she is why?
Her mother says.
Is she allowed out?
I ask.
She went out
yesterday with you
to the cinema
where now?
She asks.
Just out for a walk
to the park maybe,
I say.
Park?
What park?
Jail Park
just over the way,
I say,
indicating
with my thumb.
She looks at me sternly:
she was out
with you yesterday,
I can't have her
going out every day;
last week it was
the train station
looking at steam trains,
now the park,
she moans.
We like steam trains,
I say.
I don't care,
she says.
Lydia creeps
to the door
and appears
by her mother's side.
Hello Benny,
she says.
Her mother
looks down at her:
thought you
were making the bed?
I was going to
but Gloria's
still asleep snoring,
Lydia says.
Her mother
inhales deeply
on the cigarette
and looks past me
at the milkman
delivering milk:
Hey Milkie
three pints today,
she bellows,
making Lydia jump.
Righto Misses,
he replies
with a nod
of his head.
Can she go
to the park?
I ask
her mother again.
The mother blows
out smoke
like a dragon
without a flame:
I suppose so,
she says,
but not late
dinner's at midday
not later understand.
Yes of course,
I say,
and Lydia confirms.
The mother goes
back indoors.
The milkman
puts the pints of milk
on the doorstep.
Lydia and I
walk across the Square
making our way
to the park
for an hour or two
having nothing
much else
on a Sunday
to do.
Jan 10, 2017
Jan 10, 2017 at 5:01 AM UTC
Sunday morning
and I walk down
the concrete stairs
to Lydia's flat
on the ground floor
over by the end.
I knock on the door;
her mother answers
and stands there
a cigarette
in the corner
of her mouth
and her hair
in a turban
hiding curlers.
Yes?
She says,
eyeing me.
Is Lydia in?
I say.
Yes she is why?
Her mother says.
Is she allowed out?
I ask.
She went out
yesterday with you
to the cinema
where now?
She asks.
Just out for a walk
to the park maybe,
I say.
Park?
What park?
Jail Park
just over the way,
I say,
indicating
with my thumb.
She looks at me sternly:
she was out
with you yesterday,
I can't have her
going out every day;
last week it was
the train station
looking at steam trains,
now the park,
she moans.
We like steam trains,
I say.
I don't care,
she says.
Lydia creeps
to the door
and appears
by her mother's side.
Hello Benny,
she says.
Her mother
looks down at her:
thought you
were making the bed?
I was going to
but Gloria's
still asleep snoring,
Lydia says.
Her mother
inhales deeply
on the cigarette
and looks past me
at the milkman
delivering milk:
Hey Milkie
three pints today,
she bellows,
making Lydia jump.
Righto Misses,
he replies
with a nod
of his head.
Can she go
to the park?
I ask
her mother again.
The mother blows
out smoke
like a dragon
without a flame:
I suppose so,
she says,
but not late
dinner's at midday
not later understand.
Yes of course,
I say,
and Lydia confirms.
The mother goes
back indoors.
The milkman
puts the pints of milk
on the doorstep.
Lydia and I
walk across the Square
making our way
to the park
for an hour or two
having nothing
much else
on a Sunday
to do.
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