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Spring. Bath circa 1961. Walking home
past the Co-op to Clare Gardens. So sunny
we squinted against the brightness.

My eyes to the ground, because at school,
when making pinhole cameras, warned
not to look directly at the sun.

Under the shadows of tall men, my eyes spied
glint of silver coins; half a crown
after shining half a crown, shining on concrete.

I counted the coins to the rich laughter
of my uncles: 7/6, 15/-, 17/6.
And I was allowed to keep them, save them,

treasure them away in my pocket. I did not
have to take them to the police station,
unlike the time I found a £50-stuffed purse on a bus.

I wonder now – serendipity? Or did my uncles,
those laughing brothers wealthy with love,
scatter those seven coins, for my small fortune?

© Anne Lovejoy, March 2008