1967

The Summer of Love,

I bit my baby-sitter.

She was beautiful.

 

The moon is missing

She is standing at the screen door again,
crying, as she looks up into the night.
The moon is missing.

Just last week she had friends and life was good,
but now she knows better. It is cold and
the moon is missing.

On the beach, the tide is rolling in, with
Venus looking on. It’s not true that
the moon is missing

but she won’t know until she learns to see
she is beautiful, and ready. Only
the moon is missing.

England's great tradition of painting

They were an hour late,
three likely lads in white shirts
with five cans of paint,
three drop cloths, brushes, rollers,
and, of course, a tea kettle.

Don’t mind us, Missus,
the blue-eyed leader declared,
patting my mum’s arm.
We’ll make ourselves right at home.
You won’t even know we’re here.

I watched from a chair
as they brewed a pot of tea
and surveyed their task.
"Looks a bit dodgy, dunnit?"
one said, and they all nodded.

That decided it.
“Back in the morning, sunshine!”
the oldest one winked,
and quietly handed me
the cards from the tea packet.

Astronaut

My father was a famous astronaut,
A hero from the bright comics I bought
On Saturdays. Sometimes I heard the key
Turn gently in the lock long after we
Had gone to bed. And then my parents fought

Like lovers in my mother’s sheets, but not
Out loud as they might wake the baby. Caught
Between embarrassment and lust to see
     My father was

Still real, I clutched my rocket ship and fought
Back tears. His only letter is what got
Me through those years – to know God and country
Might come first, but he always cared for me
No matter what our friends and neighbors thought
     My father was.