Physical Education

The PE teacher blows his whistle
and we half-heartedly lift our heels
and peel away out of the gate.
Fast runners pace on. Skivers steal away.

Our little group meanders round the houses,
past optimistic semis with garden walls,
by terraces with shiny steps shouldering
the cut-through that casts us onto the towpath.
Handlebars, an upturned pram, a dimpled football
pierce the canal’s scum-swirled surface.
We tug at our gym skirts and hope we meet no-one.

The towpath’s the best bit of the run;
the rumble of cars muffled
beyond the barbed tumble of brambles,
and alongside the humming factory wall
grasses come, nettles, dock, ragwort
and a stubborn elder.

The building site comes into view.
We chatter on and try to keep our pace,
be unperturbed, invulnerable,
even though our tight nerves start to thrum.

One lifts his head and the pack follow.
Predatory eyes range between us,
assess and separate us, pick us off.
Wet tongues on drawn lips and bared tooth-tips.
Hard fingers find their way around teeth and tongue
and the shrill calls rip,
the baying grips us.
The laughter and the long stares strip us.
The dare: c’mon girls, show us yer…

We huddle tighter, blend into one
skittish herd of pale-legged,
sway-hipped, bud-breasted schoolgirls,
disturbed by the forced awareness of our
nascent sexuality.

Around the corner, now, out of sight.
We release our breath and cover our unease
with nudges and giggles.

Joanne Maybury

 
If you have any thoughts about this poem, Joanne Maybury  would be pleased to hear them