Lies Alone 1961 Poem by Terry Collett

Having shut
her bedroom door
on her mother's
wisdom and yak,
Lizbeth leans
against the door,
looks around her room
which her mother
has tidied:
the floor cleared
of books,
tea cup,
plate,
and LPs,
soiled underwear,
and now spoiled;
not hers,
her mother's imprint
everywhere.

She sighs,
moves to where
she has hidden
the sex book,
and its is still there
she finds,
and is glad.

She opens it
up secretly,
peers inside,
smiles,
then closes it up,
hides it again,
sits on her bed.

She thinks
of Benny
at school
the other day
(not today
as it rained
and never saw
him at all) .

They had talked
and she
said to him
(she had
yank his arm
and took him
some place else)
what about it?
I can come to that
dead hole of a hamlet
where you live
and we could
some place.

No, no,
he said,
going red
in the face.

Time and tide,
the girl at school
had said,
(she who lent
the sex book)
tide and time,
he'll come around
safe and sound
or sex where ever
you want it,
I know boys
and yes he will.

But as Lizbeth sits
on her bed
it is still,
no no instead.

She lies down,
stares at her feet.
sees the black shoes,
kicks them off
in case her mother
comes in
and sees the shoes
on the bed cover
and moans.

She sighs,
wishes Benny
was there
beside her
on her single bed:
body to body,
head to head,
kissing lips to lips,
but he's not there,
she lies alone
instead.