Laura's kid...
Still hot and sticky after netball,
off the school bus
at Robbers’ Gate,
I’ll take the short cut
down through the woods.
Among the undergrowth
slip off my trainers,
regulation knickers,
tuck them in my rainbow backpack,
hitch up my skirt,
enjoy the cool green
nightshade, archangel,
dog’s mercury,
brushing my bare legs.
This is the path where,
when I was a kid,
those lads would ambush me,
bind we with brambles,
whip me with willow-wands.
So quiet now,
burn chattering, chiffchaff,
red squirrel,
scent of the ramsons.
Star pupil, school captain,
teacher’s pet –
here I’m an animal,
a nimble, nervous hind,
glancing about
for the stag –
ah, stag of my dreams,
my fantasies –
when I get home,
I’ll strip, shower,
lie on my bed
imagining –
what’s that?
Down on the forest track
a truck, not one I recognise,
A guy
with a gun
waiting…
)
