SMOKING LESSONA Poem by Terry CollettA 9 YEAR OLD BOY AND GIRL IN 1950S LONDON AND THE SMOKING LESSON.
Searching in the gutters
of Meadow Row and up along by the back of the coal wharf Benedict picked out and up dog ends or cigarette butts as his old man called them and picking them up he tore open the paper and tipped the tobacco into a white paper sweet bag how can you do that? Ingrid said all those people’s spit and dribble on them she pulled a face he smiled she looked serious germs on them she said she wiped her hands on her stained green dress he bent down and picked out another cigarette butt and opened it up between fingers and thumbs and emptied it into the bag you’re too young to smoke she said if my dad saw me smoking he’d smack me silly she said he does anyway he said she bit her lip and looked away sorry he said didn’t mean to be like that he touched her hand she stared at him through wire framed glasses she liked it when his hand touched hers no one else touched her tenderly she looked at his cowboy hat placed to the back of his head the six shooter gun stuffed in the belt of his jeans the borrowed blue waistcoat (his grandfather’s given a month or so back) she put her other hand on top of his he took his hand out slowly in case other boys from school may see and walked to the shelter of a wall of a bombed out house and they both sat down he took out a packet of cigarette papers ( liberated from his old man) and pulled out a paper and shoved the packet of papers back in the pocket of his jeans and taking a pinch of tobacco from the bag he fingered it in a straight line into the cigarette paper then rolled it as he’d seen his old man do then licked the end to form a thin cigarette Ingrid watched in silence as his fingers moved and his tongue licked you’re not going to smoke it are you? she asked he put the cigarette between his lips sure am he said John Wayne like but you’re only 9 she said you’re only 9 and you’re watching he replied he took out a box of Swan Vesta (borrowed from the cupboard at home) and lit the cigarette and puffed slowly she waved a hand as smoke came near her face my dad will smell that on me she said and think it was me smoking and tell me off she said beat you black and blue Benedict thought not said he coughed and spluttered and took out the cigarette and blew smoke from his mouth and spat out phlegm brownish yellow if your old man hits you again I’ll shoot him full of cap smoke he said she laughed and hit his arm he flicked the cigarette onto the bombsite with a finger and watched as the smoke he’d blown out like a pale ghost seemed to linger. © 2013 Terry Collett |
StatsAuthorTerry CollettUnited KingdomAboutTerry Collett has been writing since 1971 and published on and off since 1972. He has written poems, plays, and short stories. He is married with eight children and eight grandchildren. on January 27t.. more..Writing
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