Country Dancing
 
Short-sleeved white blouses
with collars of broderie anglaise
from the little clothes shop
beside the launderette
where the service wash lady
keeps a lamb as a pet.
Fleece. White. Soap.
Bah. Bah. Bah.
 
Gingham skirts in blue.
Can we stitch the piping?
Gingham skirts in green.
Yes, you can stitch the piping.
Matching curved lace on our hems.
 
Let’s do the square dance.
Let’s all hold hands
and dance in a circle.
Let’s change direction.
Let’s cross the border
and cut into the gingham
with a secret we can share.
 
She did it. Her friend did it.
And then I did it.
What monsters children can be.
The teacher was shocked.
Who could have done such a thing?
Our smiles widened on the inside.
See how the others cried.
See how the three of us lied.
 
We did the ribbon dance
with a pair of pointed scissors
while the devil held our hands.
Cut. Cut. Cut.
Bad. Bad. Bad.

Susan Wilson

If you have any thoughts about this poem,  Susan Wilson would be pleased to hear them