FAY'S KISS 1960

A BOY AND GIRL IN LONDON IN 1960 AND A KISS

Fay and I
had been
to the cinema
to see the Western film
with Jeff Chandler,
and had ice creams
in the intermission.

We walked over
the bomb site off
Meadow Row.

Did you like
the film?
I asked her.

Traffic was rushing along
the New Kent Road
behind us,
the back
of the coal wharf
was in front of us.

It was good, but sad,
she said.

And not too
much kissing,
I said.

There was a lot
of shooting
and men
being killed,
she said.

That's life I guess,
but the good guys
won in the end,
I said,
best tell that
to your old man.

She looked at me:
he's my father
not old man,
she said frowning.

Sure your father then,
best make sure
he knows about
the good guys winning,
and not much
about the kissing bits.

She nodded;
we walked on
towards Arch Street,
then she paused,
and looked around us,
then she kissed me
gently on the cheek:
thank you
for taking me
to the cinema,
she said,
and for asking Daddy
for us to go.

I sensed the kiss
on my cheek,
wet and warm.

We looked at each other:
best not tell
your father about that,
I said.

No I won't,
she said,
she smiled,
she took my hand in hers
and we walked on
until we came
to Meadow Row.

We walked down
past the public house
and she released
my hand:
just in case,
she said,
Daddy's around
or sees us.

I walked beside her
trying to fit
the kiss on cheek
into my head,
but it stayed
on my cheek instead.