Love in the time of Magnums

By Adam Gibson ©

when Magnum ice-creams were first introduced,
we first started seeing each other:

a drive to the Royal National Park,
a picture of her with blue eyes in my red hat,
a return to her flat that late sunny afternoon,
sitting on her bed with my hand on her leg,
the noise from the kids from the school next door
and bright light through the plane trees,
sun at some points on the wooden beams,
the wooden door frames and dark wood windowsills.

I (secretly) vowed that I would kiss her forever right then
and I can't remember how
the days just fell into nights,
nor can I recall the point when
things hit a different beat
and as we got closer
I got further away.

And there was Bali involved
and the South Coast,
sad cow seen on roadside,
and then eventually shipwrecked in London,
desolate kissing that left both of us in tears,
horrible Heathrow scenes.

In short, it's taken more than a decade
of slowly winding back revisionism on my behalf
to feel the need to reveal that
I have forgotten none of that
and that I still,
to this day,
eat a Magnum
on every occasion
I can.