How's your Mother?

Why do you asked?

Just wondered,
I say,
standing by Yiska  
by a school fence.

Usual moods;
moans at me;
always about my room
or the length
of my dress or skirt.

I thought she was ok
when I saw her last.

You've only met her once
on one of her rare
good days.

Sunlight brightens
Yiska's face;
her eyes reflect
two small suns
and me amongst them.

And your father?
How's he?

Why the interest
in my parents?
I'm the one
you should be
talking of,
Yiska says.

Where shall we kiss?

On the lips.

But where about
in space?

She smiles.

Behind the maths block?
Quiet there.

I look along the fence
to the blocks behind;
the window glass
reflecting the sun
and other aspects
of the school behind.

There's not much time.

Then here, then.

She looks at me;
her eyes drink me in.

I look about us;
kids in the playground,
out on the field,
passing by behind us.

She leans in;
her small breast
pressing against
my chest.

We kiss,
then move apart,
lips at rest.