FAY HAS GONE 1960

A BOY AND A GIRL IN LONDON IN 1960

Fay has gone.

I'd seen her
go away
yesterday.

Fays' gone off
with her mum,
my mother
informed me
this morning.

I had known;
Fay told me
weeks ago
that she may
be going.

I wander
the bomb sites
foot tracing
where we'd walked
together;
thinking of
the last time
we had walked
the South Bank.

That last kiss
on our lips,
on the stairs
of the flats
in between
the two homes,
hers and mine.

Her old man
glared at me
this morning
as I walked
down the stairs,
but he not
knowing that
I knew things
why they left.

I stand still
gazing out
at the road
and traffic
passing by,
wondering
where she was
and if she'd
write to me
as she said
that he would,
if she could.