Poetgal

August was hot.
Me and Pat drank pints
at The Beehive, saw James Bond
at the Odeon, worked
at the council, nine to five.
‘The Professionals’ on TV -
I liked Martin Shaw,
Pat said ‘phwooar’
about the other one.

Tony was my boss.
‘I love your walk’ he said
and begged me into bed.
Me, nonplussed, agreed.
His Fiesta – small, knowing -
rocked as I learned
of his wife, and more.
Thought lust could run and run.
Nineteen eighty one.

Autumn came, I left.
His age, my student ways
cracked his skull. He was dull.
And knew it. ‘I’ll miss you,’
he said. Me, lying, agreed.
Tears in the laundrette,
‘The Professionals’ on TV -
The affair was done.
Nineteen eighty one.