What day is it?
Miss Ashdown asked
waddling up the aisle
you looked at the board
taking the chalk marks
the hand script she'd made
then she said
Benedict
write it on the board
you looked at her
standing with arms crossed
so you walked blushing
to the blackboard
and chalked up January 25th
is that it?
she said
but what day is it?
what feast day?
you stared at the numbers
and letters
I don't know
you said
going bright red
the room narrowing
to her standing in the aisle
her arms crossed over
her large breasts
like piglets
under a blanket
at rest
sit down boy
anyone else
have any idea?
Monday?
a girl suggested
no you fool
Miss Ashdown said
it's the Conversion of St Paul
the girl put down her hand
and bit her lip
and stared at you
as you went by
her eyes were watery
like one about to cry
and you sat down
studying Helen's
bright red ribbons
holding
her plaits of hair
as she sat in front
of your desk
that tiny
patch of skin
showing above
the collar of her dress
between where
her hair almost met
then raised your eyes
to the blackboard
where the Conversion
of St Paul
in large script
was set.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem