MAYBE UP WEST.

[dadio]

Lydia walked back
from the baker's shop
through the Square
carrying in her thin hands

the loaf of white bread
and half a dozen bread rolls
the 1/- change
from her mother's money

in her green dress pocket
her arms feeling
the chill of the morning air
the greying sky

the pigeons in flight
and she sensing
her stomach rumble
and her big sister

had just crept home
after a night out
(doing what
Lydia didn't know)

and her mother calling her
a whore( whatever that was)
and her father sleeping off
his beer

his snores vibrated
around the flat
and as she approached
her front door

Benedict came over
his cowboy hat
pushed back
his 6 shooter gun

tucked into the belt
of his blue jeans
been to the shop?
he asked

she stopped and nodded
early bird
catching the worm?
he added

bread not worm
she said smiling
she liked it
when he spoke to her

made her feel
kind of wanted
as if she were
of some worth

she liked it
when his hazel eyes
lit up
at the sight of her

how's your mother?
he asked
ok
she said

Benedict stood
and studied her
taking in
her plain green dress

the grey ankle socks
the black plimsolls
her skinny arms
and frame

are you allowed out later?
he asked
should think so
she said

where are you going?
she asked
thought we could catch a bus
to the West End

she frowned
where's that?
he smiled
up West

he said
you know Piccadilly
and Leicester Square
and such

she clutched
the bag of rolls
and the loaf of bread
tightly to her chest

isn't that far away?
a mere bus ride
he said
she looked doubtful

haven't money
she said
no problem
he said

I've enough for both of us
she looked
at her front door
best go in

or Mum'll wonder
where I've got to
he nodded
she moved towards the door

then stopped
and turned to him
see what they say
she said

Ok he said
look forward
to seeing you
she looked at him

that look
in his hazel eyes
that smile lingering
on his lips

like some show girl
waiting to come
on stage and perform
can I have a drink of cola

when we're out?
she asked
sure
he said

maybe ice cream too
they do that
soft oozy kind
up West

he said
her eyes lit up
and she smiled
Ok

she said
and just as she entered
the front door
he blew her

a young boy kiss
from his palm
and then turned
and rode off

across the Square
on his invisible horse
the coal black one
without saddle of course.

[saw]

if only we knew at the time how meaningful our young connections would become.....if only we had a glimpse that we would later write mountains of poetry about it...but then again, if we knew the significance back then, we probably couldn't have handled it.... and if we were poetic in all our actions back then, we would now have nothing to write about ....ha ha

[dadio]

That is so true, saw. The innocence of youth is just that. If we knew we were innocent we wouldn't be innocent. I was more care free and unfetted that I became later. I was myself more openly than later. I dig up those times and write about them and feel vaguely about that person then...and of course write heaps of poetry and stories.