Benny At The Farmhouse 1964 Poem by Terry Collett

I cycled to the farmhouse
where Milka lived.

After resting my cycle
by the fence
I walked
to the front door
and knocked.

Her mother
opened the door.

She smiled
and welcomed me in.

She said Milka
was in the bath
and offered me
a cup of tea.

I sat at the kitchen table
and watched
as she walked around
preparing the teapot
and arranging three cups
and saucers.

I studied her
the way she moved
her hips
and how warm
she seemed.

She turned
and asked me
how I was.

I said I was fine
taking in
her ample breasts
and the colourful
apron she wore.

She turned again
and I breathed in the air
the smell of bread
and the logs burning
on the Aga
and her motherly
milky smell.

I wondered how long
Milka would be
and how she looked
in the bath
with nothing on
wishing I could go up
and wash her
back and front.

Her mother put
the cup and saucer
in front of me
and sat down opposite
and offered me biscuits
from an open tin.

I smiled at her
and she talked
about Milka
her eyes on me
large and liquidy
like small seas.

I pictured myself
a few weeks before
in front of Milka
on my knees.