I’m the child who learnt to explore, run and climb,
alongside Pippy Longstocking, I play outside,
hide away from the hungry looks of men,
eyes sliding all over our skin, a warning
sign followed by hands, and other things.
My sisters craved reassurance, potent, feminine,
wore make-up, attracted attention,
dressed in fashion with hemline ascension,
flashing wide eyes, drinking and smoking.
Boyfriends driving fast, in hotted-up cars.
For this game, I built armour and spear.
On the outskirts of the football throng
a quiet watcher observing the different few,
mean kids huddled, plotting someone’s misery.
Older kids with sex on their minds,
all of us outcasts searching for sameness.
Underaged smokers and tokers, the sniffers.
Slurred speech from innocent secret chuggers
Des and Rocky in their baggy jeans.
Hiding behind buildings and embankments
where the western sun would glare
through needle leaves of deep green pines