Wendy's Lot 1959 Poem by Terry Collett

Wendy would show
the colour
of her underwear
for boys to stare
for a few pence
to satisfy
their boyhood
sexual sense.

Or cup her hand
over her little girl
armpit
bring down
her arm
to make
a farting sound
all around class.

Or that's the legend
the boys told.

But I knew her
as a friend
who walked home
with me from school.

We would laughed
at what
the teachers taught
and told
brainwashing
our childhood's hold.

She once said
her old man
beat her
bare behind
if he was
in a mood
or drunk
and the alcohol
stunk.

But she'd not cry
not give him
that satisfaction
for that cruel action.

Later I heard
she got cancer
out of the blue
and cried.

Something
her old man
in his drunken rage
couldn't do.