#moorhens
Jane invited me to her house
because of the rain
falling outside.
Her mother
was in the lounge knitting,
her father in his study
working on his Sunday sermon.
Is it all right for Benedict
to come in out
of the rain for while?
Jane said.
Her mother looked at me,
of course,
she said,
stopping her knitting,
would you like
a cup of tea?
Yes, please
that would be lovely,
I said.
Her mother got up
from an armchair,
and went out of the room.
I sat next to Jane
on the settee.
Jane was wearing
a grey flowery dress;
her long black hair
was in bunches.
Shame it rained;
I was going to show you
where I found a moorhen's nest
by a small pond,
Jane said.
What's a moorhen?
I said.
Some people call them
marsh hens;
they swim on water,
and can walk well
on their strong legs,
and have long toes
that are adapted
to soft surfaces,
and eat plant material,
small rodents, amphibians
and eggs,
and can be
a bit aggressive,
and territorial during
the breeding season;
they're often found
in fairly big flocks
on shallow vegetated
lakes or ponds,
she said.
I wanted to kiss her,
but was frightened
her mother would come in
at the wrong moment,
so didn't, but I touched
her hand feeling it
warm and soft.
I'll show you later,
she said.
Lizbeth wanted
to show me things,
but it wasn't moorhens,
but I didn't tell Jane,
no need, no gain.
Jun 1, 2016
Jun 1, 2016 at 2:23 AM UTC