As you know, dear reader, much of my writing these past few years has been through the prism of Stereo Stories and the notion of a song, a place, a time. You also know that, come summer, I somehow fall back into poetry…
First Kiss
Point Lonsdale, New Year’s Eve party, 1976
I remember the place and the time but not the song
Her eyes and her lips but not the tune
Her tongue and her taste but not the chords
Her hair and her face but not the words
There must have been music. It was New Year’s Eve.
I knew her from table-tennis, of all things
Admired her game. Her composure
Red shirt, navy blue pleated skirt
Hair tidy in pigtails
Tongue pushing through her lips
In determination
In concentration
Too nervous, too scared, too shy to ask her out
The closest I came
Was a doubles pairing
At a regional championship
Where we talked tactics between points
Whispered secrets
“Try your back-spin serve.”
I remember the corner of a crowded room
Her hair free, her eyes blue
Her tongue touching my chaste lips
Pushing through
I’d dreamed of the girl
But I wasn’t ready for the woman
And then
In a moment
The time it takes
To breathe out
She was gone
Into the maelstrom of the party
Looking for a man not a boy
I remember the place and the time but not the song
Remembering the yearning and confusion of my own early years and feeling relieved to be at this end of life where things aren’t so all-consuming and complicated. A thoughtful piece, as we head towards the end of another crazy year – thanks Vin…
Thanks Vin, very nice
Oh Vin. Captured it.
That’s reassuring. I often think, ‘It might matter to me, but to anyone else…?’ Cheers.
Brilliant Vin. Pingy Pong darling. Marvellous wordsmith you are. So thanks for sharing. A
Thank you Angela. I’ll accept your reference to ping pong, rather than honourable sport of table tennis in the spirit of your enthusiasm.(I also popped this story on the Stero Stories website. You never know, it might turn up at the Lit Fest.) Cheers.