Terry Collett

Gold Star - 23,291 Points (13/12/1947 / LONDON)

Don'T Take Lifts From Dames - Poem by Terry Collett

Whose car
did you get out of?

Dolly asked.
Some dame

from the bedding department,
you replied.

She’s been bedding you
I suppose? Dolly said.

No, you replied,
she’s seven months pregnant.

So you got her pregnant huh?
Can’t keep your hands

to yourself can you.
I just got a lift home

by her that’s all.
You took off your coat

and went to the sitting room
and poured yourself a drink.

Dolly followed you in.
I found this name

in your pocket book.
A girl’s name.

You recognise it? Eh?
She showed you

the pocket book.
You read the name.

That’s just some dame
whose name I put down

who’s been shoplifting.
So you say.

For all I know
you’re having it off

with her too.
Maybe you’re having all

the dames at the store.
I’m a security guard

not a Casanova, you said.
She went off

out to the kitchen
muttering to herself.

You drained your drink
and poured another.

You could hear her
in the kitchen

slamming down
pots and pans

and cursing the air.
I don’t screw any dames

but you, you said.
You’re my Sweetie pie.

Dolly came back
to the door way

and stared at you.
You mean that?

Sure I do.
Every single word?

Every single word.
I’m your Sweetie pie?

Sure you are.
And you ain’t been sleeping

with no other woman?
No, of course I haven’t.

Never would.
Dolly’s glassy gaze softened.

She pushed back
her hair from her eyes.

Ok Sexy Boy
maybe I believe you.

Maybe you’re telling
me the truth.

Maybe I got you wrong.
She turned and went back

in the kitchen.
You sighed softly.


she bellowed.
Out in the kitchen

Dolly banged around.
You emptied the glass.

A love was dying.
You could sense it

in your bones and
in the hollow sound.

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Poem Submitted: Thursday, December 29, 2011

Poem Edited: Friday, December 30, 2011

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