Your polo shirt is slightly askew.

Eyeliner you try and hide.

My daughter baby’s prime;

we have fought for this.

You now sit in classrooms,

open windows, warmth drained.

Queue, face mask clad, in corridors

dreaming of seeing faces 

The boy you pass notes to

you are no longer free to kiss

or find the ecstasy in another.

Your childhood is on hold.

W...

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Swinging upwards,

scathingly steering myself towards salvation.

School Run: teacher testimonials and tallies.

An “Other,”

an outcast from tradition.

Rousing the reluctant offspring,

combative to my requests.

We breakfast briefly,

on little balls of sugary synthetic yellowness

We arrive at school,

greet the countless glamorous goddesses

oozing out of the orifices

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