Dave Cork and me behind the chicken shed.
‘You show me yours, I’ll show you mine’ he said.
Some of his Wrigleys for a flash,
that was the deal. (I wanted cash) !
Dave was an ‘only’ and lived opposite
I had a brother, seen his stupid snail bit
in the bath. I knew a thing or two!
Dave Cork’s was not much cop.
A bit more walnutty and sticking up,
a tinys dribbling eye on top and thinly thatched.
He had it in his hand, said I could feel.
I didn’t fancy it. ‘Now show me yours’ he said.
I stared him out, all snooty and detached,
pulled down my navy knickers.
lifted up my skirt.
He peered, his snotty nose up close.
looked hurt. I wouldn’t let him touch.
He shrugged and said ‘You ain’t got much,
did someone cut it off? ’
Then poking behind his molars
hooked the promised gum and offered it
half chewed with no mint left
and full of Dave Cork’s spit.
A sticky metaphor perhaps
of Things To Come…?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem