Enid Twirls A Gun 1957 Poem by Terry Collett

You watched me twirl a gun
around my finger
as I'd seen cowboys do
in the films
at the cinema.

Can I try that, Benny?
you said.

Sure,
I said,
and handed you
my toy gun.

You put it
on your narrow finger
and tried to twirl it,
but it fell off your finger
on to the grass
around Banks House.

You picked it up
and put it on your finger again.

Hold your finger
at a slight angle upwards,
I said.

You did as I said
and twirled it
a few times
then it fell off again.

I picked the gun up
and handed it to you;
you tried again,
this time it stayed on longer;
after a few goes
you handed the gun
back to me.

I put the gun
in the holster
on my S belt
and said:
what do you want to do?

Can go up Bedlam Park
if you like,
you said.

Ok, I said.

So we climbed the fence
and walked up Meadow Row.

How's your old man?
I asked.

He was all right this morning,
you replied,
as we crossed
the bomb site,
although last night
he and Mum rowed,
you said.

Lots of parents row,
I said.

But this was heavy stuff,
you said,
at first I thought
he was going to it her,
but he didn't.

We walked to the subway
and went down.

We walked in silence
through the subway.

I musing on the film
I was going to see
with my old man
that evening,
and God knows
what your were thinking about.

Just as we came
to the end of the subway,
I gave an almighty shout
which made you jump
out of your skin,
and you slapped my arm
with your skinny palm.