Janice and You at Waterloo Station
At Waterloo Station
the steam engines
puffed powerful steam
reaching up
to the rooftop
and you stood there
hands in your pockets
your nose sniffing in
the white and grey smell
you can taste it
on your tongue
and Janice beside you
her eyes looked up
at the rooftop
as the steam
reached high
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poem by Terry Collett
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Unwanted Wealth
On the way home from school
you and Helen stopped
and looked in the window
of the pie and eel shop
where a man was cutting off heads
of live eels
and then slitting them open
and knifing out the guts
and then chopping them
up into small pieces
and Helen said
yuk what's he doing
to those poor eels?
you were engrossed in watching
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poem by Terry Collett
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Sarsparilla and Janice and You.
You walked with Janice
to Baldwin's the Herbalist
at the corner of Elephant
and Walworth Road
she wore her blue patterned dress
and red beret
and white socks
and red sandals
and in her small purse
she had money
her gran gave her
to buy sarsaparilla
in a half pint glass
and you
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poem by Terry Collett
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Good Friday and More
Good Friday. Dark purple over
All the statues. Grimstock stares
At windows coloured glass light
Shines through. Kim Keltis on his
Right dressed in black mind in prayer
Standing there. Crucified on a brass
Crucifix a Christ hangs the eyes
Closed arms stretched out the hands
Nailed. Grimstock's eyes lower down
To the slim waist of Kim and lets
Eyes move over firm buttocks fleshy
Thighs her dark dress caressing.
Unaware of his eyes her eyes closed
Holds to prayer talks to God confident
God is there not knowing Grimstock's
Stare. Grimstock's eyes like feelers
Reach and touch suck and feed in mind's
Eye greedily the prayer book in his hands
Clutched tightly becomes part of the girl's
Fleshy thighs becomes this becomes that
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poem by Terry Collett
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Over His Latte.
He's only just sat down
in the cafe when she enters
and stands at the counter
waiting to be served. He lets
his latte settle. Allows his
eyes to scrutinize. The waitress
serves the woman in the white
hat and black dress. He notes
her fine figure, the low cut at
the neck, the thin straps over
shoulders. He tries to breathe
in from where he sits her perfume,
but it doesn't come. The woman
orders an espresso and says it
with an Italian accent. He follows
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poem by Terry Collett
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Swings and Slides
And she likes to ride
on the swing and rise
higher and higher and
see beyond the hedges
and see houses and trees
and people passing
and wonders if it's always
so and as she rises higher
her hands gripping the
ropes of the swing she
feels her stomach turn
and turn and remembers
when her mother's new
boyfriend pushed her
on the swing a few years
ago how he would say
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poem by Terry Collett
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Mamie and You in Madrid.
Madrid
and after the street salesman
conned you
out of coins
in your change
Mamie said
well put it down
to experience
we all get caught
at one time or other
and they have
brought forth
great art
and you stared at her
at her hair and eyes
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poem by Terry Collett
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Matter Of Beauty
That's Speedwell
and that's Red Sorrel
Jane said
pointing out
the wildflowers
as you both walked
down the lane
that led to the empty cottage
with apples trees
in the garden
and gooseberry bushes
in fruit by hedges
They all look the same to me
you said
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poem by Terry Collett
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Dottie Waits for Willie.
Dottie wishes Willie would
return home. All night she
had twisted and turned in
his bed. She looks out of
the window of their cottage
for the postie to come with
a letter from her brother,
but there is no sight or sign.
She sighs. Later she will prepare
one of his favourite pies. He'll
bring Sammy and they'll go
for walks and talk and smell
flowers and hear the birdsongs
and sit beneath trees and study
the sky. She moves to the kettle
and switches it on and prepares
a cup of tea. One teabag, two
sugars, a small spill of milk.
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poem by Terry Collett
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Baylitz's Wife And A Game Of Chess
Baylitz's wife served you snacks and booze
while you played chess in the lounge
at the small table set aside for games
and you watched her come and go
the swaying of her hips
the well crafted thighs
beneath the dress
the way her hands held the tray
her eyes green as emeralds
searching you as she laid it down
watch your bishop
Baylitz said
but in your imagination
you were already undressing his wife
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poem by Terry Collett
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