The Mayfly Dance

 

It snowed on Christmas Eve

Nineteen Seventy Six

But that was later.

 

Earlier we had all met up

In our favourite student pub

Everyone under age and eager

 

The girls in cheesecloth shirts

And tight fitting Levis

The boys sporting long hair and moustaches

 

We didn’t look Seventeen

As we chose the jukebox plays

Of Zeppelin, Skynyrd and Quo.

 

You weren’t even on my radar

Far too beautiful for the likes of me

But we finished the night sat together

 

Beautiful in a way

That only seventies boys would understand

Like the blonde one in Abba

 

You asked me would I walk you home

And I couldn’t believe my luck

And rushed to answer “Yes”

 

Your lips were soft and open when we kissed

Transferring the unlawful taste

Of Vodka, Lime, Black Russians

 

And then it started to snow

And my senses were so alive

I felt each stinging prick of snowflakes on my skin

 

Our footsteps in the snow

Leading to her front door

And the offer of a coffee

 

Then I went home

And wondered at the newly whitewashed landscape

As though my heart had been reset

 

Back to school a fortnight later

And though she smiled and nodded

That was it – over in a Mayfly’s dance

 

Then – and only then

Did I realise your kisses

Were given cheaper than a taxi fare

 

It snowed on Christmas Eve

Nineteen Seventy Six

The night I grew much older