Me too by Sue Kindon

I can honestly say
no man has ever physically got the better
of me

but there was an old guy on the Caterham train
beckoned us over
(we were in Brownie uniform)

and I thought at first he held a sparrow
in his naked hand. We called Brown Owl
and he zipped it

out of sight,
or that time hitching
when we cadged a lift

from those French blokes
and their Gitane smoke,
who didn’t try anything

but dumped us
in the middle of a Breton forest
when they didn’t fancy us

or coming home with Jen
from The Last Night of The Proms,
all patriotic in a corridorless train

and having to get out and move compartments
at East Croydon because a spotty youth
was edging ever closer and there was no one else

and again at Purley Oaks
when he decided to follow us
to the very same compartment

and we knew the penalty
for pulling the communication cord

or the old friend of the Viennese family
where I stayed on an exchange visit
who couldn’t understand

why a fifteen year-old girl
didn’t want to go out with him
in a horse-drawn fiacre

to hear his war stories.


2 thoughts on “Me too by Sue Kindon

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