The Man-Hole Cover Poem by Sheena Blackhall

Walking along a dusty deserted street
I have the urge to lift the man-hole cover
Peep into the syrupy depths
Where the sewer flows, the Styx of the subconscious
Like the drowned past I've learned to keep the lid on.

I learned this trick from my mother
A very private person
Who, walking down stone steps
Felt the elastic snap
On her wartime peach-silk knickers
Felt them slip to her ankles

Without faltering, she stepped out and away
Commando style, after the drop
Leaving a creamy gusset,
Two coy black pubic hairs,
Virgo intacta, dignity preserved.