Smiles from that wheel chair and I can see
that they can only be directed at me;
I look at her uncertainly for a little while
then cross the room to return her smile
thinking of another time and another place,
mind wiping years to expose a younger face.
the labourer's son, the boss's daughter
doing things that they didn't oughter
older than me with awakening needs
it was she helped me first spill my seed
and she taught me how to satisfy her
to treat a woman with respect and care
in the old farm orchard on summer days
where we would join in our little plays
the next year she was a woman grown
and I roamed that orchard on my own
and then I in turn grew and moved on
my adolescent days passed and gone
We sit and talk about our past separate lives,
of friends and family, husbands and wives.
I never ask how she got there
fully confined in her wheel chair.
When it was time for both to leave at last
a kiss in memory of shared times passed