December 1st – In Between the Clover and the Damp Earth
We’ve tried it once or twice
And found it rather nice
Roll me over lay me down and do it again
Roll me over in the clover, roll me over lay me down and do it again
(Bawdy WWII song, popular in 1944)
Somewhere in between
the clover and the damp earth
she left her innocence;
a dead thing, used up.
And she was different, then;
of who she was now,
of what she had become.
Mud and crushed greens
on her jeans, marks from where
she’d pulled him down,
her choice under the canopy
of trees and sky; marks
she hid with a sweater
loosely tied around her waist
as she let herself in,
the key unlocking, turning
into an unsubtle echo
of this Thursday afternoon.
She couldn’t look them in the eye
at the table, bit her lip
at did you have a nice afternoon,
dear? Did they notice any difference?
If they did, they said nothing.
Fine. I’ve put the washing on.
I had some things that needed doing.
The churn of the drum
washing away the signs:
washing away the mud, and the greens;
the marks on her jeans
of an innocence gladly thrown away
between the clover and the damp earth.
Inspired by a prompt from here
(I know it’s not technically the 1st of December, but I was in London, and my phone wasn’t too keen on posting anything, so this is what I would have written. More or less.)