Not To Push Your Luck.1958 Poem by Terry Collett

You walk around the small cot bed
pulling the blanket and sheet tidy.
It's too small for you, but your big
sister and her Spiv boyfriend occupy

the double bed she once shared
with you. You look at them there:
him facing the wall, one hand over
hers, and she lying there facing you,

her mouth open as if catching flies,
her eyes shut. The bedroom door
opens and your mother stands there,
a cigarette between her lips, smoke

rising. Lydia, I've been calling you,
that boy Benny's at the door, wants
to talk to you, she says moodily.
You leave the bedroom, closing the

door behind you, and walk past
the kitchen where your mother is,
and walk to the front door which
is ajar. Benny is standing on the

red tiled doorstep. Hi Lydia, are
you allowed out? I'm going to
the flicks and wondered if you
were allowed, he says, looking at

you with his hazel eyes, the
quiff of brown hair. You smile
and say: I'll ask Mum, she what
she says, you leave him on the

doorstep, and walk back to the
kitchen, where your mother is
sorting the washing. Can I go
out with Benny to the cinema?

You ask, putting on your little
girl lost expression. Your mother
looks at you through a cloud
of cigarette smoke. Again?

you only went last Saturday,
she says, waving away smoke
from her face. That was a week
ago, you say. She sighs and stares

at you. How much is that going
to cost me? She says.6 pence is all,
you say, not mentioning 6 pence
for an ice cream or ice lolly. All?

What do you mean, all? 6 pence
is 6 pence, your mother says,
eyeing you. I'll do some chores
afterwards, you say. She muses

on the word chores. She closes
her eyes a moment as if this
might be a gesture of endurance.
All right, just this once, don't

make a habit of it, just because
he goes every week doesn't mean
you can too, she says, searching
through her brown purse. She

takes out a 6 pence coin and
hands it to you. I expect a few
jobs done for that, she says.
You grasp the coin in your hand

and say: thanks Mum. She puts
her purse way and carries on
sorting the washing, cigarette
smoke rising again about her head.

You walk to the door and say:
Yes, I've got my money. You
show Benny the 6 pence piece.
Good, he says, didn't she give

you any money for an ice cream?
You shake your head, no didn't
want to push my luck, you say.
He nods and smiles. You go

out the step, pull the door shut
behind you. Benny waits for you.
The morning sky is moving and
a washed out kind of colour blue.