THE FIRST TIME

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.