by Julia Griffin

“How we met: ‘I was a paper boy and she was the Saturday girl in the newsagents—
she seemed so cool!’”
—The Guardian

She was the Saturday girl in the newsagents;
I was a paper boy—she seemed so cool!
Chewing a wine gum she smirked at my innocence:
Loser in love with the star of the school.

Six in the morning I picked up my newspapers;
When I got back she was starting her shift,
Bagging up Marathons, Marlboros, Lucifers;
Putting a coin in her hand was a gift.

Muddy from falls off my brother’s old bicycle,
All I did then was to blink as she shone;
Now, though I’m older, and prone to be cynical,
Fancies, like Saturdays, still carry on.

Guardian, Telegraph, Rivington Courier,
Radio Times wrapped in Daily Express!
Make me confetti the day that I marry her;
Saturday girl in her Saturday dress!

Tear up the Sports, with their Villas and Arsenals;
Headlines and Letters can spiral and curl;
All that I ask to preserve are the Personals,
Proving my match with my Saturday girl.