breaking through the clouds onto a stormy sea…
THAT – she said quivering like a preacher, box aloft –
IS WHAT SEX IS LIKE.
and that was it – sex-ed.
I still can’t put a condom on correctly.
Inevitably perhaps,
chewing gum took on this lore,
mysterious and seedy
we became obsessed with it –
chewing rebelliously open-mouthed,
swapping it when we kissed for dares,
pressing the old gum under desks – feeling all wild and
grubby.
Hot.
Oh, Ava!
Just the scent of spearmint on a person’s breath,
however old, can send me – still – into the throws of
early stirring,
and I will never not unwrap a brand
new packet with a certain sense of ceremony.
And so the coins tossed to us by the tourists
for our, frankly turgid, Pachelbel’s Canon,
bought us gum
which we chewed
and gossiped
about what we thought the rest involved, and blew
pink bubbles – big as we could – and dared ourselves
to make them touch, and pierced them with our
fingers so they burst across our faces… being young
is weird, huh, Ava?
But listen – when you’re in these little Portakabin
classrooms and your world is very small and you’re
reading a book chosen from the curriculum by a worn-
out, weary man because it’s short. You’re bound to fuck
about a bit.
Our Exploits at West Poley – honestly.
If you’re thinking you should look it up, I wouldn’t, Ava –
one of Hardy’s lesser works.
Two boys explore a cave and redirect a stream which,
unbeknownst to them, deprives their hometown of a river
