A long time ago and hardly revised

The two of us almost bumped straight

Into the two of them. But it was alright,

Because neither boy nor girl looked back at us.

They had not gone far past us as I steered

My mother about the pharmacist’s corner.

The Diet Coke and the change in her handbag,

The silence was silenced - we both now had something to say.


Normally, when people-watching,

I look at women first. Man’s Descent makes three markers,

Sex, age, then aesthetics. The girl had a right

To demand a conspicuously furtive glance;

Her long hair had fine brown brightness,

She was smiling and natural and unconcerned.

I did look at her first, but scarcely at all.


For with her was one I felt I knew well,

I disliked him, disliked me, as I watched him.

He was my age, and made me feel short, dark, stumbling,

Away from a race contemptuous of fear,

Stout hearted, steel toned.

Looking at the girl was soothing, half-attainable,

But the blond boy’s morning aimed scowl fixed my stare.

I knew him then, I knew his sort!

Within sixteen guesses, his name as well,

And I wanted to use some honourless means,

Poison or deceit or book-learning,

Atomic science, verses, to leave him dead

And take his girl. If there is Progress

Such longings engender it.


And deftly I helped my mother to make way,

To absolve that envy by the gift of a pavement,

And we trudged on, past the chemist’s.

“I thought I knew that boy’s face,” I said.

I was her familiar, as I saw the same vice

Bundled under our verb.

“How strange,” she said, “I thought I knew the girl’s.”