Dream Of Her 1962 Poem by Terry Collett

He picked up
the book of birds
on the window-ledge.

Opened it
and randomly
gazed at the pictures
of birds.

Downstairs
his mother
was cooking dinner;
the smell of onions
was on the air.

He glanced
through the window,
lowering the book,
to have a look.

The cat was in
the apple orchard
waiting for birds
to comedown.

He thought of Yiska
at school,
the meeting on
the school field
at lunch recess,
the kisses,
lips to lips stuff,
and she saying:
shame you don't live
in the town, Benny,
we could meet more.

But just at school,
just then
could they meet,
stolen moments
best they could,
doing what they wanted
not what they should.

He gazed at the sky,
late afternoon sun,
school done.

He opened the book
and took out the photo
she had given him.

Black and white,
she laughing,
hair caught
in some wind,
shirt rising.

He kissed
the photographic image,
held between
finger and thumb.

He recalled
Rennie saying,
the bit of skirt
don't half fancy you,
Benny;
bet she's
up for it.

The cat stalked
a bird on the grass
of the orchard,
head down,
paws slowly
preparing,
sleek and slim,
in for a kill
if the bird
kept still.

He placed the photo
back in the book;
closed it up
and placed it
on the window-ledge.

As he kissed her lips,
his hand had stalked
her thigh,
slow fingered
out of sight.

He smiled;
he would dream of her
that night.