It's very odd, certain experiences engraved in memory,

Especially ones you wish you could lock up and lose the key.


When I was eight I picked up reading fast.

I had books at school and at home,

And I enjoyed them all.

But not nearly as much as I craved comic books

Which Mummy did not provide.

'The funnies in the newspaper are quite enough.'


But they weren't.

I had fallen in love with 'Wonder Woman'!

She was so beautiful with her long, dark hair,

Bright bathing suit, and black boots,

Her tiara, and that wonderful, golden lasso.

Brave, kind, wise, and fearless!

AND she had the sense to have an invisible little plane.

Everybody KNOWS humans can't fly!

Whether they have a cape or not!

I did not split hairs.

I totally adored her.


There was a girl who lived nearby

Who kept to herself a lot.

Older than I was, maybe a single child.

I don't remember any empathy about no brothers or sisters.

If she were an only child, I probably thought, 'Lucky you!'

I didn't particularly like her.

She didn't join in games.

But she took a fancy to me and invited me to her house.

I became her friend.

But I remember nothing of her home, except her bed,

And its big, pull-out drawer - full of comic books!

With lots of 'Wonder Woman'!


'Treasure' is what you really want,

Found at the time when you want it most.

I was utterly seduced.

Every Saturday I went 'to play',

If you can call reading comics all morning 'play'.

I don't know how long we were friends.

Maybe I exhausted her cache of comics;

Maybe we moved away.

I think we moved away, my duplicity undetected.

I can only hope so.


I knew I was doing something 'not good',

But not bad enough to give it up!

Jesus would not be pleased, nor Mummy,

And neither would Wonder Woman!

War was horrible and 'she' was wonderful.

Mummy was too, but not the same, just not the same,

Although I never could have said why.

It was pure calculation, that friendship,

Even if she did ask me first.

I've carried it on my conscience ever since,

And I have never repeated it.

I had learned the meaning of 'unworthy'.





◄ Country Platitudes

Associative Thinking ►


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Wed 15th Jul 2020 13:04

I love her also xx

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M.C. Newberry

Wed 3rd Jun 2020 13:11

Maybe some misplaced "guilt" here...but wonderfully told in the
context of this childhood recollection. All kids are mercenary
opportunistic little creatures and are heedless of motives or morality
in the need for friendship or realising personal satisfaction - e..g.
the chance to feast on the delights of comic books owned by another.
I remember how these skilfully illustrated publications opened up the
imagination to things beyond childish abilities and let it fly! The art
has obtained its deserved reward in the welter of "hero" films now
enjoying a bonanza at the box office across the globe.

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Cynthia Buell Thomas

Tue 2nd Jun 2020 12:57

Perhaps someone will empathise with this little 'story'. Or not.

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