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Tonight’s Star Prize
He didn’t look like he did on TV. He smiled, but it wasn’t
the charming, cheeky smile of Saturday night tea time. It was fierce, leering.
His eyes burned, wet and bulging as he reached for me.
Said I’d won tonight’s star prize, just like on the telly.
He laughed then.
Forty years ago now, but I never forgot that night. Ever. He
died last week, it was in all the papers. “National Treasure Dies”. I was glad
when I read it, smiled.
But that night he came back to me. His hand, cold and white,
reached under the covers.
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