Sweet Sixteen
Bought my first
Bra with rosebuds,
From Woolies,
A big girl
At 10.
Showed it
With pride,
To the boy-upstairs,
Who, unimpressed,
Carried on with
His Meccano set.
My first defeat
In the game
Of love.
Then came
The first kiss,
In Jerusalem
In a hotel lift,
With the lift-boy.
I'd told him
I was sweet sixteen,
But really
Only a chubby,
Ten year-old.
A big girl.
He never knew
The truth,
And I never
Replied to his
Postcard.
Every Wednesday afternoon,
I played hookey
Instead of hockey.
My mother oblivious,
My father overworked,
I had free rein.
Went to Battersea,
To celebrate
My eleventh,
With two 13 year-olds
Who spat into their
Mascara blocks
And frantically
Brushed their
Smouldering lashes.
I was in awe
Of the "big girls"
And gladly paid
For all their rides,
And when they
Picked up three
Rude boys,
I got
The ugly one.
Three - nil
To love.
Poetry by Esti D-G
Read 936 times
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Written on 2010-11-20 at 19:31
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