i couldnt believe
that i had to sit there
a d l
l a o
l y n
g
with these strangers
this old woman
these weird smells
so i asked
and went to the toilets
and sat there
sat in the solitude there
in the quiet there
knowing i must go back
to that allocated chair
to the unknowable rules
to the faces
ugly dumb crumb covered faces
back to that clinking crate
its bottles of full fat milk
dirty from the truck
and warm from the sun
i knew i had to go back
knew if i did i would cry
knew if i cried
it would feed on itself
and i would be looked at
looked at and asked
all those unanswerable questions
on display and out of the loop
gagging at the thought of milk
at school
1978
from cpfc.org
he left the single story concrete building glad to be outside the modern steel frame doors. it was autumn and it was cold. a crowd of bodies flowed onto the black tarmac touched by evening ice.
the path split around a flower bed and he took the lower path. it was quieter, he remembers the brief solitude walking by the bare rose shrubs. it divided the crowd of bodies like white water.
he doesnt remember the bag he had but he must have had one. it had a new book in it the lady gave him and the home made bookmark.
the crowd was as noisy as white water too. he's eyes were pinned ahead like lamps looking out. his head was filled with the new smells of the building, his eyes dim in the new dark from overlit corridors inside.
and he was full with the surprise of survival, surprised its over, surprised he was allowed to leave. he was alone in the crowd of bodies and it scared him. his eyes looked out like lamps.
the bookmark he remembers. the vivid and glossy blues and pinks. cut from the front of a humorous greeting card it was the police pulling a drunk over under a huge pink elephant in the blue black night sky.
the more he remembers it the more it tries to fade. the details fade. exactly what the joke was he didnt know then and doesnt know now.
he sees his mother waiting with other mothers. she has a long coat on, maybe a dull itchy pink. he remembers the fabric and the fibres thin and silvery poking out. he rushes up to her and hes holding the book mark. it seems important. he shows her the book in his satchel too. the bag - its a satchel. he remembers now. but not what the book was.
he doesnt remember talking to any kids or anything else that happened. just the early dark and the bookmark and how all the other kids were talking about star wars.
he hadnt seen it.
he'd never heard of it and in his wildest imagination he could not comprehend what a skywalker was but it seemed really really good and i wanted to be one.
