Christina's Fruits 1962 Poem by Terry Collett

Christina
and I sat
on the grass

at midday
at recess.
The building

of the school
within sight.
It was hot

lemon sun
pouring down
its heat waves.

She sat down
her fine legs
under her

her cream blouse
open neck wide

her small fruits
pushing out
impressions

on the cloth.
I studied
secretly

as she talked
her mother
in a mood

at breakfast
scolding her
her bedroom

in a mess
her clothes not
put away

too lazy.
I listened
taking in

her two knees
just beneath
her green skirt

the white socks
ankle length.
Does your mum

moan at you?
she asked me.
Now and then

I replied.
Beads of sweat
trickled down

her forehead
down her chin
down her throat

down between
her two fruits.
I wished that

I could be
(just a while)
that flowing

bead of sweat
lying there
in soft warmth

of her fruits.
It's so hot
she confessed

I lay there
in my dream
softly blessed.