Hoyden

The first time I walked with a girl The sky was throwing Smooth glass sheets. No shelter for me but Her hand in mine, And no shelter for her But mine in hers. Fervent whispers shot in my ear My squelchy replies, Drowned mumbles. Shipwrecked tradespeople of sentiment, We swapped smirks and suggestions Of disobedient devilry. As her bitten fingernails trailed Through the mud, I thought of Mam and how I was scorned for going Near this ‘right little hoyden’. Too much trouble, Mam said. She was right. I simply couldn’t defeat the Noughts ‘n’ crosses champion of the world. Grinning as Mam’s face swam into view, If only she could see me now. Before I was beckoned away From the mud, I had a fleeting thought; That water is silver, The sand the mold. Treetops hissing disapproval, Guilt rising faster Than the flooding riverbanks, I let slip to Sammy my burdening thoughts. The soggy corners of her mouth twitched. We weren’t only in the same storm, but the same boat. Despite her traipse, sly grins pressed on The sky opening up to our marmalade sky.