Jesus fondles <br />her left breast. <br /> <br />'Stop it! Stop it! ' <br />she scolds. <br /> <br />'You're making me.. wet! ' <br /> <br />They walk among the broken tombstones <br />deciphering the moss-eaten inscriptions. <br /> <br />Her summer dress <br />clings to her <br />as she clings to him. <br /> <br />Someone calls their names <br />and they turn and- <br /> <br />- their photograph is taken. <br /> <br />Ivy clings to the wall <br />and climbs. <br /> <br />It is July - 1939. <br /> <br />'I called him Jesus <br />(was that bad of me?) <br />because he was <br />my Saviour.' <br /> <br /> <br />'Jesus Jones...' <br /> <br />'I would have died for him <br />but - he died on me.' <br /> <br />'The War got him...' <br /> <br />'He never came home...' <br /> <br />The homehelp smiles warily <br />at the little old lady <br /> <br />unable to comprehend <br />the love of then... <br /> <br />because she only sees <br /> <br />...the time of now. <br /> <br />*** <br /> <br />NOW DEATH SEEMS VERY FAR AWAY <br /> <br />It is July - 1939. <br /> <br />Her hair tumbles <br />across her smile. <br /> <br />He shades his eyes against <br />sunlight as if saluting. <br /> <br />Knowing they are going to have their photograph taken: <br />they stiffen into the postures
