Kept Well Hid 1964 Poem by Terry Collett

I sit
at the kitchen table
in the farm house
with Milka.

Her mother
is washing dishes
from breakfast.

Milka is late down,
and eating cereal.

Her mother turns to me,
and says:
can I get you
anything, Benny?
Something hot?
She smiles and I
smile back,
and say:
yes a cup of tea
would be nice,
thank you.

Milka watches
the smiles,
and gently kicks me
under the table,
and mouths:
don't smile like
that at her.

I frown.

Don't smile
like that at her,
Milka mouths again.

I stop smiling,
and gaze at Milka;
she is not pleased;
jealous of her
own mother's
attention to me;
she thinks(she told me
the other day)
her mother is
playing up to me.

What are we up
to today?
Her mother says.

We? What do you
mean we?
Milka says.

Well you and Benny,
her mother says,
turning and putting
a cup of tea
in front of me,
smiling.

I gaze at her
motherly bosom,
her bright eyes.

We're going shopping
in town,
Milka says,
I need to get some things
and Benny wants to look
in the record shop
at Elvis LPs.

I see,
her mother says,
I may go
to town later;
your father is busy
on the farm,
so I'll have to go alone.

Where are the boys?
Milka says.

Sea fishing,
her mother says,
won't be back
until late.

I look at Milka,
she looks at me.

Right while you're
finishing your breakfast
I'll go do the beds,
and her mother
went out and up
the stairs.

Do you have to smile
at her like that?
Milka says.

Like what?
I say.

Gawk at her,
and smile;
you can see
she is after you.

After me?
What do you mean?
I say.

Wants you in her bed,
Milka says.

I doubt it,
I say.

Don't doubt it;
avoid gawking at her.

Milka eats her breakfast
for a few minutes,
then says,
if we come back
while she's shopping,
we can maybe
have time
in my room
and do things.

I smile
and watch her eat,
wondering about
her mother upstairs,
and what if she did.

I showed
no real interest,
but if so,
I kept it well hid.