Snakeskin Boots

[Harrow-on-the-Hill 1964]

I remember the hill and the sun in her hair,
   I remember the moss on a tombstone seat,
With the grass as tall as a mad march hare.
   I remember she kicked the shoes off her feet.

I remember her calling me ‘daft as a brush’,
   And the taste of the orange she helped to peel.
I remember she mocked my feeble moustache
   And my snakeskin boots with their Cuban heel.

I remember the lids of her eyes as we kissed,
   I remember the shock of a gentle slap
As she hissed ‘Not here!’ and circled my wrist
   When I fumbled the catch of her brassiere strap.

I remember it rained as we raced for a fuck
   To my room.  I remember we tore off our clothes
Except for my boot where the zip had stuck —
   And her poached-egg breasts, I remember those.

I remember we tumbled both half insane
   On the bed, and the arch of her back as I came.
I remember we did it again and again,
   And we screamed...
      ...but I cannot remember her name!
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