We lean on the balcony
looking down
on the Square;
it's a summer evening,
light still,
kids playing
by the pram sheds,
on up and down the slope
on their scooters or bikes.
Fay smells of flowers;
her fair hair let loose
about her slim shoulders;
I sniff her secretly.
My father's away,
she says,
he'll be back
on Saturday.
Where's he gone?
Business in Scotland;
he said I was to learn
Chapter six
of St John's Gospel.
Why?
Just his way
of making sure
I don't waste too much
time on earthly things.
Will you learn it?
I will have to;
he'll test me
when he gets back
and if I haven't
there will be trouble,
he said.
I see two kids fighting
over by the pram sheds;
a crowd gathers.
Don't your parents
make you read the Bible?
No, my old man
wouldn't know
the first thing
about the Bible;
he thinks it's all
a load of tosh,
but my mother says
we should go to church
and sometimes we do,
especially
the Bible-thumpers
by the iron bridge
who take poor kids
to the beach
in the summer
and they have feast night
with bread
and cakes and such.
Fay looks at me;
her eyes have
a sadness about them
like a puppy
left out
in the rain.
The nuns say
that those who
do not believe
will go to Hell.
Be quite
a packed place, then.
I believe,
but I want you
to believe, too,
she says.
Believe what?
In Jesus and God.
I watch a tall kid
ride his bike
by a couple
and shout
KAZOO!
as he passes them by.
I do believe.
You do?
Sure why not?
She smiles.
I would kiss
Miss A's backside
for a smile like that,
but I don't tell Fay;
I just look
at the brightness
of her eyes
where stars
are born
and an old star dies.
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 1:25 PM UTC
We lean on the balcony
looking down
on the Square;
it's a summer evening,
light still,
kids playing
by the pram sheds,
on up and down the slope
on their scooters or bikes.
Fay smells of flowers;
her fair hair let loose
about her slim shoulders;
I sniff her secretly.
My father's away,
she says,
he'll be back
on Saturday.
Where's he gone?
Business in Scotland;
he said I was to learn
Chapter six
of St John's Gospel.
Why?
Just his way
of making sure
I don't waste too much
time on earthly things.
Will you learn it?
I will have to;
he'll test me
when he gets back
and if I haven't
there will be trouble,
he said.
I see two kids fighting
over by the pram sheds;
a crowd gathers.
Don't your parents
make you read the Bible?
No, my old man
wouldn't know
the first thing
about the Bible;
he thinks it's all
a load of tosh,
but my mother says
we should go to church
and sometimes we do,
especially
the Bible-thumpers
by the iron bridge
who take poor kids
to the beach
in the summer
and they have feast night
with bread
and cakes and such.
Fay looks at me;
her eyes have
a sadness about them
like a puppy
left out
in the rain.
The nuns say
that those who
do not believe
will go to Hell.
Be quite
a packed place, then.
I believe,
but I want you
to believe, too,
she says.
Believe what?
In Jesus and God.
I watch a tall kid
ride his bike
by a couple
and shout
KAZOO!
as he passes them by.
I do believe.
You do?
Sure why not?
She smiles.
I would kiss
Miss A's backside
for a smile like that,
but I don't tell Fay;
I just look
at the brightness
of her eyes
where stars
are born
and an old star dies.
A BOY AND GIRL IN 1950S LONDON.
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