Little Kinsey Report

Little Kinsey Report by Neil McCall

The only Japanese names they knew
belonged to aircraft carriers sunk at Midway
so the motor bike was British built
and spat oil on her best stockings.

They stopped in a quiet lane near Worcester
for a picnic of meat paste sandwiches
then made love on a bank of cowslips
long into the late afternoon.

Of course, she would have denied all this
- at least, until the pregnancy became advanced -
had she ever been asked
by earnest men carrying clipboards.

But someone sent a girl instead
who accosted him in the pub
and extracted a confession
having tipped the balance from shame to pride.

He'd got good prospects
- plenty of weekend overtime in the signal box -
so they were going to keep the baby, he said.
Just a quiet wedding, Saturday week,
and a few days in the Cotswolds.
The motor bike would have to go.