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Saturday, May 14, 2011


A magic moment it is

And certainly it should be

for all of us.
That first full encounter
With love, and exploration
and new bodies. You would need
to be floating, to tell it all.

They were.

The first story
about the number nine bus
Not that it happened there.
It was the going home after
Top front seat. Both hands,
cupping  a crotch,
quietly singing to itself.

The second was hilarious
on the sands by the estuary
when the tide came in
and the car floated away
at the moment of magic .
And after, he was quite sure
that there had been only half a first time,
Or perhaps only a quarter.

Rozzie’s story was the best , however,
for Rozzie had a broken leg.
In plaster – top to toe,
And they only had the sofa.
The others in the flat,
Were asleep. They hoped.

The time had come,
She knew that. He knew it too.
He had been there,
the day she broke her leg.
Too many fumblings since,
On the sofa, in the car, the park outside.
The both knew it.
Her leg was the only problem.

He propped it this way,
She propped it that
Nothing worked well
But much patience and some care,
and finally an achievement came.
Of a sort.

The last was not fun
In the long undergrowth
prickly and damp
Much time but no patience, no warmth.
She laughs now, but two years went by,
before trying again.

Many years later
they told their stories.
Four of the six. Two
would not tell.
And for none of the four
Was it truly a moment of magic.

But we had grown in the years since
For now we could laugh
at that broken moment of magic.
The first of the many
 that follow us all.

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