Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jul 2019
Yiska said
she'd take me home
with her lunchtime.

Her mother had said
it was all right
as she would be there.

I couldn't wait
for the boring lessons
that morning in school
to end.

I won't be able
to take you to my room,
though,
she said,
despondently.

I had met her old lady
a month or so before;
she suffered
from depression,
so Yiska said.

I doubted she'd get
to show me
her room again.

She did once,
but then her mother
came back
from shopping early,
and we went downstairs
just as her old lady
entered the kitchen.

When the last lesson
of maths ended,
I made my way
to the gate
and waited for her.

I wondered what sort
of sandwiches her old lady
had prepared for lunch.

Last time
it was crab paste
with lettuce.

She'd cut them up
in small neat triangles.

I hoped it wasn't
crab paste again.

As Yiska came
towards me,
it began to rain.
Terry Collett
Written by
Terry Collett  71/M/England
(71/M/England)   
136
     William A Poppen and Mike Adam
Please log in to view and add comments on poems