Politeness

This is a poem about a girl who's got into an awkward situation through being too polite.

They walked awkwardly along the towpath

bumping together, because his arm

was round her shoulder. He was saying:

I shall always remember this walk.

I’ll never forget last night.

I’ll never forget you. Oh God.

After a pause, she made a short

non-committal noise. The morning had turned

wet and dark. She felt dilapidated by the rain

and of course had forgotten her umbrella

due to the unexpected turn of events.

Trust me, he said, you will, won’t you?

Trust him to what, she wondered.

Which men could one trust? Any man

carrying a musical instrument, perhaps?

Any man walking along reading a book?

Most doctors – with reservations about those

wearing bow ties. Trust you to what? she asked.

To never let you down, he said,

splitting the infinitive, crushing her

against his wet tweeds. She fought

for breath as he loomed over her.

Little one, I can’t let you go.

I’ll be back on Thursday. Expect me.

So many imperatives. The situation

had become unwieldy. She longed

for buttered toast, looked furtively

at her watch. I know, I know, we have

so little time. The suffocating squeeze

into the spongy lapels.

I’ve enver felt like this before.

Have you ever felt like this before?

Fatigue and embarrassment were

all too familiar to her. She stirred the leaves

with the toe of her boot. No, she said

politely. Not exactly like this.

first published in Chooosing to be a Swan (Bloodaxe, 1994), © Connie Bensley 1994, from Finding a Leg to Stand On (Bloodaxe, 2012), used by permission of the author and the publisher.

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