Skirt

When she was six,

The girl was enrolled in private school.

They issued a blouse, white,

Socks,

A tee-shirt with a school logo,

And a pleated, plaid skirt.

 

They reissue the socks,

And the blouse, white,

And the tee-shirt with a school logo

Every year.

 

The skirt is made of sterner stuff.

 

When the girl first wore it,

It fell below her knees.

 

Each year the girl grows

And the skirt creeps up,

And up,

And up,

 

And up,

 

Until,

In the way of the world,

Concealment becomes its opposite.

 

There is no equivalent

For school boys.

 

The injustice of this

Has so far

Gone unnoticed.

 

 

 

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Mastiff

She walks with quick, little steps,

Arms stiff,

Wooden, as if

Fearful of calamity.

 

Her breasts, however,

Parting the world before her,

They have a life of their own,

And she,

She is walking them,

As she would an unleashed

Mastiff,

Nervously aware

Of the danger they present.

 

 

Pepsodent Smile

Some time ago, I posted “Lambs”, about a beauty parlour for little little girls.  The girl in this piece could be a survivor of that.

 

Little girl, straight from 1955;

Striped summer frock, cardigan,

White shoes, bare legs, and

Elegantly coiffed.

 

Mother to the woman,

She will stand beside her walk-in closet,

And say, “Tah-dah!”

 

Or just maybe,

She is a spy in the house of convention,

Lying in wait with her Pepsodent smile.

 

 

At Five, You Can Still Play Naked

Sometimes, when I visit blogs, I find my self focusing only on the new….A shame, that,  looking back gives you a notion of where the blogger has been…not to mention there is some great stuff there.  So, I am taking a leaf from my own bock…and from time to time i will reblog some of my earlier stuff…especially stuff i reread, and do not find wanting.  This is one I wrote back about 2012, about my neighbor’s little girl; even at that time it was old news,  the events were long gone.

At Five