OUT WITH ANN.

A BOY AND GIRL IN LONDON IN 1950S

Ann has long
brown hair
and a wide spam
of forehead
and deep eyes.

She's Jimi's sister;
he's my best friend,
she has a temper
like a wild horse
and I avoid her
when she's moody.

She opens the door
to her parent's flat.

Yes?

Is Jimi home?

He's out,
gone with Dad
for a while.

When will he
be back?
I ask.

When he arrives.

I look pass her shoulder;
look for her mother.

Can I come in?
Or do you
want to come out
and go to
the bomb site
or park?

What for?
She looks at me;
hands on her hips.

Something to do,
something to pass
the time.

She looks at my clothes
and says:
do you have only
the one pair of jeans?

No, but I like
theses best.

What’s to do
on the bomb site?

Light a fire;
pick small stones
for my catapult;
play cowboys
and bad guys?

Have you got
a spare gun?
I'm not just being
a silly saloon girl;
I want a gun
to blast
the baddies away.

I pull out one
of my 6-shooters
from my S belt;
here have this one;
I hand her a gun.

She holds it
in her hands
and spins it
round her
plumpish finger.

Ok, but I’m
Annie Oakley.

Sure, you be her,
and I’ll be
Wyatt Earp.

So I wait until
she's got her
shoes on
and her cardigan
with flowers on.

We go through
the Square
and down the slope.

She rides her
brown horse
(so she says)
I ride my black horse
across Rockingham Street,
gun at the ready
for the baddies
we might meet.