ENTER FRIEND 1960

A BOY VISITS HIS GIRL FRIEND'S HOUSE IN 1960

I knock
on Hannah's
parent's door,
rain spitting down,
the morning air fresh
and lung biting.

Mrs Scot opens
the door:
O it's ye,
she says,
eyebrows rising,
eyes peering at me
hawk-like.

I've come
to see Hannah,
I say.

Ah didne hink
ye came tae
see me,
she says,
moving back
to allow me
to pass by.

I pass her by
like a mouse
passing a cat,
my eyes sidewards
gazing at her,
and moving past
as quick
as I can.

She closes
the door
and calls:
th' boy's haur,
gie it ay scratcher.

She indicates I go
into the lounge,
I do and sit down.

HANNAH!
She bellows.

She goes off
to the kitchen,
and I look around
the room.

Just coming,
won't be long,
Hannah says
from her bedroom.

Her mother says
something
incomprehensible,
and then all is quiet,
except for the ticking
of a clock.

The curtains
are drawn back
allowing light
to enter the room
(providing
it has wiped its
feet first
bringing
Dylan Thomas
to mind).

The picture
of a kilted man
stares at me.

He has big eyebrows
like dark caterpillars.

On the mantelshelf
is a photograph
of Hannah
and her parents
and her brother
who is away.

The bedroom doors opens
and Hannah appears.

Hello,
she says,
I overslept,
just going
for a wash,
and she is gone.

Dornt be lang,
her mother says.

Be quick
as Ah can,
Hannah calls back.

Water runs,
splash, splash.

She's a lazy huir,
her mother says,
coming into
the lounge,
holding a cup
and saucer of tea
for me,
puts it down,
smiles
the thinnest
lip smile,
then goes again.

Outside,
as I look through
the window,
is heavy rain.