POETRY
      Saxby Pridmore — 'Think of a Number'

At seventeen
the bone rings of her neck were broken
and her cord custard was sheared
though
not all the way through.

Her body’s hanging by a thread
so to speak, she can walk
like a puppet.

At seventeen
she worked after school in a fashion shop
had the gear and read the glossy mags
though
not all the way through.

She hasn’t been outside since
"I don’t want the people I knew
to see me".

At seventeen
she watched TV. Things haven’t changed
except, she did forgive the driver
though
not all the way through.

It’s time to tick the compensation box
but no one knows
what she’s worth.