And for special things
(weddings, school -
Concerts) the grown up girls next door
Would do my hair.

Luxembourg announced amami night.

I sat at peace passing bobbipins
From a marshmallow pink cosmetic purse.
Embossed with jazzmen,
Girls with pony tails and a november
Topaz lucky birthstone.
They doused my cow's-lick, rollered
And skewered tightly. I expected that to be lovely
Would be worth the hurt.

They read my stars,
Tied chiffon scarves to doorhandles,
Tried to teach me tight dancesteps
You'd no guarantee
Any partner you might find would ever be able to
Keep up with as far as I could see.

There were always things to burn
Before the men came in.

For each disaster
You were meant to know the handy hint.
Soap at a pinch
But better nailvarnish (clear) for ladders.
For kisscurls, spit.
Those days womanhood was quite a sticky thing
And that was what these grim sisters came to mean,

"you'll know all about it soon enough."
But when the clock struck they
Stood still, stopped dead.
And they were left there
Out in the cold with a wrong skirtlength
And bouffant hair,
Dressed to kill,
Who'd been
All the rage in fifty-eight
A swish of persianelle
A slosh of perfume.
In those big black mantrap handbags
The snapped shut at any hint of that
Were hedgehog hairbrushes
Cottonwool mice and barbed combs to tease.
Their heels spiked bubblegum, dead leaves.

Wasp waist and cone breast, I see them yet.
I hope, I hope
There's been a change of more than silhouette.

Labels: a very exquisitely fashionable teapot

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