Going for Silver

Can picture her eyes to this day –
like sunbeams, spritzing
the spokes of a brand new bike.
When she laughed, she’d cup
her hand to her mouth, as if
rescuing a moth, trapped
inside a lamp.

Made me feel I counted...
took an interest when I talked...
touch my arm, once in a while,
make it feel good to be me,
like I could do anything...
if I really wanted.

Different from my folks
who didn’t give a tinker’s cuss
about what I was up to –
long as I stayed out of their hair;
a clip round the ear, all I got
when Dad rolled home
from the pub.

After school we’d chat...
sometimes play hopscotch
on the street. I’d hide
her bag, pull her plaits...
anything to tease; she took it
in her stride. ‘Could charm
the birds right out the trees’,
with her sweet-talking ways.

One day sticks in my mind...
the end of term disco;
she wore a star-spangled top.
I’d walked her to the corner
of her road, then her lips met mine,
like in the movies. Not an ordinary
kiss; one of those French ones –
gave a whole new dimension
to the girl with the silver tongue.