THE MAGAZINE.A Poem by Terry CollettBOYS LOOK AT A MAGAZINE AT SCHOOL IN LONDON IN 1950SSutcliffe brings a magazine to school (his old man's he tells us) and we group in under the shelter near the outside bogs. He opens it page by page; his fingers shaky, his eyes, blue, enlarged, peer the page. Look at the state of her, O’Brien says. I look over his shoulder at the naked dame. Can you imagine Miss A doing this from our old school? I suggest. Don't make me puke, O’Brien says. What the feck's that? Sutcliffe asks, pointing a finger. It's where you were born from, Davies says. Can't be, Sutcliffe says, I was born in Guy's hospital. Your mother, poor cow, has one of those, O’Brien says. Sutcliffe pulls a face as if he'd bitten a lemon. Shan't look at her the same way again, he replies. Turn the page, I say, see something other. He turns the page, a centrefold, opens it out, arms outstretched, eyes widening. Wouldn’t say no to her, O’Brien says, scanning in like a swooping air plane to dive bomb. Me, neither, Sutcliffe mutters. I see Sutcliffe's inky fingers shake on the edges of the magazine; the woman has big eyes peering out, her nose has an air of: had your gawk? We just stare, no place to waste words, we stand, open mouthed and don’t talk. © 2014 Terry Collett |
StatsAuthorTerry CollettUnited KingdomAboutTerry Collett has been writing since 1971 and published on and off since 1972. He has written poems, plays, and short stories. He is married with eight children and eight grandchildren. on January 27t.. more..Writing
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