St. Swithin's Day

The found couple
sat on the bench,
holding hands.
A July summer,
English seafront.

They were amongst
screeching children,
feral dogs,
the smell of
fresh doughnuts.

Old now,
rugged up
against the wind.

A seagull above them.
Swooping for chips.

“I’m sorry Terry.
It was the mistake of my life.”

“Did you love him Julie?”

“No.
Just his money
and his dreams.
It was a long time ago.
I was a fool.
It should have been you.
Do your coat up.
It’s getting chilly.
Here, I’ll help you.”

“Thank you puffin.”

“God!
You remember that!
What a silly thing.”

“You used to call me pudding.
Your pudding.”

“Such silly names for each other.”

“We were in love.”

“It was forty years ago.”

“Yes.”

They walked to the bus stop.
Orphans to tomorrow,
and the day after,
and the day after that.

It had started to rain.
The pitter-patter.

“This is my bus Terry.”

“Oh.”

“It’s been lovely seeing you,
after all this time.
Thank heavens for Facebook.”

“I love you puffin.”

“Don’t cry Terry.
Please.
We’re old now.
Such a fuss.”

“Please.
I have nothing left,
just my heart.”

“Just memories Terry.
That’s all.”

“Please!”

She gave a sigh of love.

“Ohh. Come on then.
You big pudding.”