I have been revisiting my poetry from my teen years and have added some of the life’s experiences gained in the intervening 50 years. This one takes me back to fourteen and the lure of the summer fairground along the seafront.. and one slick operator in particular.
The Lure of the Waltzer
Preparations take an hour to complete
With curlers, mascara and bright red lipstick
The adding of two years is quite a feat
As is the hairdo with the right little flick.
We sneak from the house without a goodbye
Heading for a forbidden destination
Very keen not to be caught in a lie
But we are obsessed with a fascination.
We loiter along the rails of the ride
With the others who have a similar aim
To walk away with a swagger of pride
Being winner of this particular game
Black-haired and blue-eyed with a rakish air
He knows the effect he inflicts on his prey
As he deigns to spin a customer’s chair
And rotates his hips with an arrogant sway
Spellbound we wait for him to catch our eye
All desperate to be singled out as the one
And when he does, and smiles, you almost die
From the joy of having your time in the sun
The Gypsy boy on the waltzer is god
But we know to only worship from afar
For we have heard tales of those he has awed
And have then ventured far too close to this star.
But the excitement and danger is bliss
For young girls exploring tales of the bad boys
To test new found womanhood with a kiss
Now that we have stopped playing with a child’s toys.
He grins as he whirls faster and faster
For he has finally selected a date
Let it be me, and not the disaster
Of him deciding that he fancies my mate.
To my relief he ignores both of us
And with virtue intact we leave for the day
Plotting next moves on the top of the bus
To win at this fun game of love we all play.
Image: From Wikimedia Commons, the free media repository