It was warm, the sun
was bright, girls and
boys on the grass enjoying
the midday recess before
afternoon classes. Some
boys lazily kicked a ball
on the field, girls sat in
groups chattering and
laughing. Shoshana sat
with Naaman on the grass
by the tree in its shadow.
She was picking buttercups
between fingers, he watching
her, thinking how nice she
looked sitting there. It's
your fault, she said, looking
at him holding a few buttercups.
What's my fault? He said.
I can't focus in lessons, she
said. How's it my fault? I
didn't ask you to think about
me, he said, but pleased she
did think about him. Can't
help it, I just do, she said,
going red, looking away.
What do you think about
you and me doing? He said.
Not saying, she said. Girls
over the way broke into an
explosion of laughter. Naaman
looked over. Someone is
the meat to chew over, he
said. You're there all the time,
she said, even at home, I see
you around me, even at the
dinner table while having
breakfast this morning.
Wasn't me, I was at home,
having my own breakfast,
he said. You know what I
mean, I felt you there, she said.
Felt me where? He said smiling.
Not like that, in here, in my
heart and head, she said.
Don't you think of me? He
gazed at her. Yes more often
that you'd guess, he said. Really?
She said. Sure, most of the
time, he said. He knew he had;
he'd thought of her that morning
in bed as he woke from a deep
sleep, she there beside him,
naked and warm, her hair
against his cheek. Then Rolland
came walking across the grass
towards him, and stood, and said:
want to come play ball? We
need another player, Brooks
has gut ache, Rolland said.
OK, be there in a minute,
Naaman said. Rolland walked
off. Sorry about that, must go,
see you later, and he walked
away, she watched him go, she
wanted him there beside her,
wanted him to kiss and to stay.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Well, you can't let Girls get in the way of serious business, like playing Footie. My great strength was committing fouls just outside the area and just avoiding a penalty. Nowadays I wouldn't have lasted five minutes on the field! It's a very well handled piece, both romantic and realistic. Well done, Terry.You're not an Arsenal supporter, by any chance? Tom