One afternoon, when I was thirteen
I caught the attention
of an older boy who tasted of rolled up cigarettes
as he paraded himself around
the listless playground
in a shellsuit top interwoven
with the sharp stench of his BO
He asked if I would be his girlfriend
I was curious, so agreed and
me, him and his small group of insipid followers
spent the following three hours
hanging out in the dirt
that lined the floor
of the hard, concrete playtube.
He confessed to being impressed
by the length
of my legs
I was impressed
by god only knows what.
His age?
I chanced across him once more
some four years later
as, short-skirted, I paraded
around the centre of town.
“God she’s fit” I heard
as he nudged his mate
(He probably needed an eye-test!)
I had no-one to nudge but
I definitely would not have uttered
those words about him.
Poetry for Dullards 