'69

I’m courting, growing up,
a Jean Shrimpton lookalike on my arm
punching well above my weight.
but halfway along Hawthorne
scene of many a schooldays I-Acky 123
or British Bulldog rough and tumble
I pause to stifle a silly smile.

We turn down Mulso,
through the alley to
skirt the top of the rec,
across Summerlee past Patterson’s Farm
where scrumping was easy
then down through the old quarry.

I stare up at Devil’s Tooth
and wonder why we ever thought
standing there
with trembling knees
that it was Everest
in 1959
one of us pissed ourselves
it’s still a secret.

Up onto the cornfield, tall, dense
like the Shredded Wheat advert,
I hadn’t got a clue what to do at first
then you were naked
on the flattened stalks
and everything seemed to fall into place,
our Summer of ‘69

© Graham Sherwood 12/2017