dash
Annus Mirabilis
 
blip
Sexual intercourse began
blipIn nineteen sixty-three
blip
Philip Larkin
 
Yes, sex began in 63
for Philip Larkin and for me.
 
Before that so-auspicious year
hand-holding was the most boys got:
the rules for love were strict and clear,
what might be done and what might not.
 
In cinema back-rows wed miss
the heros comeback from the brink
for little more than a chaste kiss
while spilling our Kiora drink;
 
then, unconvincingly, wed brag,
to other spotty celibates
about our prowess, scrounge a fag,
become a hero to our mates.
 
In hormone-bedrooms, going blind,
wed fantasise on girls who would,
because there surely were that kind
of girl, or so we understood.  
 
At seventeen, those hormones howled:
it was a bitch to be a male.
Though we dashed out, all downy-jowled,
each night, undoubtedly, wed fail.
 
Wed traipse home late, repressed, depressed
because some girl had no-ed not yes-ed.
 
Richard Fleming

If you have any thoughts on this poem, 
Richard Fleming would be pleased to hear them.

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