MILTON LOST.

A BOY THINKS OF A GIRL DURING CLASS RATHER THAN JOHM MILTON IN 1962.

I caught glimpse
of her between
double maths
and English Lit;

eyes feasted on her
as she passed,
she looking,
smiling,

her head turning,
then she was gone,
and I walked on;
but all through

English Lit,
the teacher
moaning on
about some Milton bit,

some lost paradise
or else was
something like,
but I thought on

about she who
passed me by
with that look
in her eye,

that sway
of her hips,
that swish of skirt,
that glimpse

of white socks,
and such,
and all too much
for Milton’s loss

of this or that
or teacher’s talk
or scribbled chalk
words upon the board,

my mind was fixed
on the sway
of hips
that caught my eye,

the smile of lips,
thrilling me
from toes
to finger tips.