I loved going to the pictures <br />when I was a kid <br />that’s what we called it then <br />in the days before online tickets <br />and the Imax experience <br /> <br />It was an afternoon’s event <br />two to three hours <br />of childhood debauchery <br />dodging the light <br />from the usher’s torch <br />when we’d fired popcorn <br />from the balcony <br />or dribbled our fizzy orange <br />on some poor fool’s head <br /> <br />We’d yawn and snort our way <br />through the trailers <br />and the lead-up film <br />then yelp like hyenas <br />when those heavy velvet curtains <br />dragged themselves along the floor <br />for the feature <br /> <br />There was an intermission in those days <br />most of us <br />didn’t even understand the word <br />but it rolled off our tongues <br />like the tang of the orange ice pops <br />we’d shove into our greedy gobs <br /> <br />I remember the smell <br />dust and static <br />and popcorn salt <br />all mixed into a heady froth of excitement <br />a bubble of innocent joy <br />that even time <br />hasn’t managed to burst<br /><br />Sheila Knowles<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-pictures/
