Love in the Fifties
She wore a second-hand,
button-through frock
covered in rosebuds
a belt at her waist
of the same fabric
and black patent shoes
he wore corduroy trousers
a silver cigarette tin in his
back pocket and carpet slippers
they paid half a crown at the
turnstile and Tex Morton sang
‘Old Shep’ on the slow ride
she loved candyfloss and
he lost his front tooth
to a toffee apple
they marvelled together at
the half-man half-woman,
the one white thigh
he proposed on the ghost
train and she screamed
as the skeletons rattled
she wore a hat with
matching gloves and
carried a small bump
they stoked the fire together
and the hot water rumbled
over the red roof tiles
when the ditch was filled
with rainwater and he
was so full that he fell
she dried his clothes on
the rack above the stove
where the roast rested
And there’s more; more
than the rain and the
lost footbridges; barbiturates
This is only the start
but who
has the time nowadays?