Three Poems

To My Husband, with the Gift of a Shirt
The two boys from the shop
would stream past on their bikes.
I was small enough to stare
unashamed, behind the fence;

old enough to know the blond
would romp it home in most
love races, but I desired
the dark boy, to have or be;

because he wore a crimson
piratical shirt, in days
when grown-up men were khaki
and grey and brown and navy.

Who sets the clock of love?
The child in the eye does that.
While your hair is mainly black,
I'll give you a red shirt.

Easter Saturday
...