Misshaped Love.
You never talked about cowboys
or shootouts with Fay.
She was the girl
in the apartment above
who lived with her mum and dad
and younger brother.
You sat next to her
on the bus
your hands wanting to reach out
and touch hers.
You didn’t
but held them in check
like hounds ready
for the chase.
She was about your age
eleven or so
give or take a few months
and she had long blonde hair
which her mother
sometimes braided
sometimes not.
What do you do
in your spare time?
She asked.
Oh you know
play about
on the bombed out buildings
or bombsites
or go swimming
or play ball with friends
you said.
She nodded and looked away.
There was a bruise
on her neck
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poem by Terry Collett
Added by Poetry Lover
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