On the way back
from the cinema
with your old man
one Friday night
he stopped
at the fish and chip shop
and ordered chips
in salt and vinegar
in a large bag
and walked home
down Meadow Row
he talking of the films
you'd seen
how he once met
the actress
in some film festival
up West
you were thinking
of the cowboy
in the film
and how well
he drew his gun
especially using
his right hand
to get the gun
from his left hand holster
a kind of cross over style
and you thought
I must try that
when I get home
get it down
to perfection
and he said he'd seen
the actor( not
the cowboy guy
some other)
in the theatre once
in some play
you thought
how you'd show Ingrid
once you had
the technique of
cross over drawing
of the gun
to a fine art
she'd sit on the grass
by Banks House
and watch
with her mouth open
as you did
your show piece
and you'd show her
how fast you could draw
your 6 shooter or
maybe you'd wear
both guns
one on each side
the old man was still
yakking on
about this actress
but you were imagining
Ingrid sitting there
on the grass
or on the bicycle sheds
listening to you talk
of the film
and how good
the cowboy was
and you saw her
in your mind's eye
( as you and your old man
crossed over Rockingham Street
and up the slope
to the Square)
sitting there
with her eyes wide open
her hands
like sleeping doves
lying in her lap
and on the leg
(as usual)
a crimson mark
from her father's
hard slap.