David Penn
Buckstead Park
You stood in the stream and let
the water lap your feet
as you bent forward, hands on your knees,
your teeth wide open in a grin.
I must have missed you
taking off your knickers
and folding them inside
the pocket of your skirt.
I had other things on my mind at the time -
like exams and Did you love me?
You came across the grass
towards me, with your green-
painted toenails, hands in pockets,
making sure I saw your feet
pick ways around the nettles, rocks
and thorns. You stood in front of me
and smiled, then closed your eyes.
I tipped from the waist to kiss your neck
and tried to invent some foreplay.
You lifted your skirt,
took hold of my finger
and placed it exactly.
‘This is my trigger,’ you said.
David Penn lives in London.
Page(s) 7
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