Field Lying 1965 Poem by Terry Collett

I lay beside Tilly
in a field behind
her parents' place;
it was summery,
and the sky the bluest blue
I'd seen in ages.

What do you want
to do in the future?
She asked.

Lead a band,
and play my saxophone,
I said.

Lead a band?
She said.

Yes jazz band,
I said.

She turned
and looked at me,
Anything else?
She said.

Make a bit of money,
I guess,
I said.

She raised her highbrows,
anything other
than that?
She asked.

Travel the world,
I suppose,
I said.

And me?
What about me
and you?
She said.

Can you play
an instrument?
I asked.

No, but I mean
our future?

I looked past her;
a steam train went by
on the rail track.

O I see what you mean
us getting married?

Yes,
she said,
and a family.

But we're only 17;
too soon for that,
I said.

She turned away
from me,
and looked towards
the woods near by.

We won't always be 17,
she said,
so we could think
about it as a future thing.

I studied her back,
her waistline,
her cute butt,
the legs that
went on downwards.

Sure we can talk
about that,
I said,
remembering
the last time
we had sex
and her kisses
and hugs.

She turned
towards me again,
talk and plan things
in our heads,
she said.

What about the band?
I said.

What band?

The band I might lead.

She looked at me,
have you got a band?

Not yet,
but I may have one,
I said.

Talk about it
when you do,
until then...
she kissed me
and put her hand
around my waist
and drew me closer.

I put my hand
on her hip,
then her butt.

I smelt her perfume.

Then she moved away
and said:
Mum might be
watching us
from the upstairs window.

So we lay there
and watched another
train steam by
and go.