Saturday Matinee

In line with Liz
outside the Five Lane Ends’ Regal
stamping my feet against the damp cold
nearly ten, responsible, unlike my sister
giddy at eight. If I don’t watch her
she’ll spend her shilling on sweets!
We can’t sit in the front sixpennies, jostled
by rough boys from the housing estates.
Courting couples pay a shilling for the back row.
We need the ninep’nnies (thre’pence for sherbet lemons).
I finger the sugar ration coupons in my pocket
grab Liz’s hand—she’s going to show off—
knows she’s pretty—those boys will stare
or jeer—she might start dancing!
At last the line’s moving.
I expect Flash Gordon will escape
that small room slowly filling with water
but he’ll be up to his neck again this week
just like Liz.