For National Poetry Day
My first kiss was with a girl whose name I didn’t know,
It wasn’t really anything to write home about.
I’d expected a big romance,
Swirling orchestral score,
Julie Andrews skittering down the mountainside,
Not two strangers suddenly going mouth to mouth,
Like a pair of sturgeons lip-locked in a fishmongers window,
As disco lights flashed like running water down the slab.
There wasn’t even really a song to lock the moment in my heart,
Just Marc Bolan and T Rex going
La La La, La-La-La La, mmmm, ah, ah ahha!
Still, she was pretty,
With long dark hair and gold lamé hotpants,
Her shapely legs in clumpy white PVC boots.
But she legged it as soon as the song was done
And vanished behind a wall of skinheads
That no amount of hormones were going to propel me across.
A search at school on Monday morning revealed that her name was
or maybe Lorraine,
But, horror of horrors,
She was in 3B,
A year above me and a million miles away,
And my message sent on the grapevine of jungle drums
Played by giggling girls,
That, Max wants to go with you,
Vanished sadly into the ether,
Never acknowledged me again.
In school uniform she wasn’t that hot,
It was no big loss.