Mum’s slipping on her see-through dress.
Outside our council house
a chauffered Rolls is waiting. It’s
a beautiful summer. There’s been
so much yearning. At
the Floral Hall violins are fainting
and the black-and-white minstrels
have ripe red lips. I’ve won
third prize for my Bluebird sand-
carving. Soldiers are wrapping
barbed-wire round the beach. Mum’s
smoothing down her new silk stockings.
This time, she says, love will be for keeps.