COMING HOME FROM SCHOOL – poetry compt. entry 2016

Coming home from school

The ritual starts at 3pm

She bursts through the door, home from war

Of battles fought with ‘so called’ friends

How dare they bruise my young girl’s heart

With arrowed words, like poisoned darts

For simply trying to do her best

Win the race, pass the test

Don’t talk to Bex, they snigger and snort

She thinks she’s too good, at art and sport

Don’t let that flower grow too tall

Lets cut her down and watch her fall

Poppies must be kept at bay

Except of course on Anzac day

From Turkish coves to playground swings

And thirteen-year-old suffering

On battle or the soccer field

The daggers hurt, the dread is real

At home she cries, I bathe her wounds

With a cameo cream and love to the moon

What shall I do Mum? she asks me straight

If I don’t make the team, will they stop, go away?

I pause for a bit, to avoid disgrace

I’d like her to punch them in the face

Poppies are meant to grow strong and tall

Not hunker down, behind school walls

They should reach for the glorious warmth of the sun

Through battles fought, to battles won

It’s up to you I reply to Bex

Knowing I should be, politically correct

You could be less, than you want to be

And give those girls their victory

Or you can win everything, be proud, have a ball

Succeed with grace, and fuck them all.

 

©Lisa Nimmo