rodeo days
rodeo days
if I was bright and early
I pedalled the unhurried way
across the hump-backed bridge
over the minnow stream
right at the fork along hawthorn lane
past the iron gates of the posh boys’ school
freewheeling downhill right to mine
I liked my Brylcreem hair showered
That’ll be the day
It’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to
I wanna be Bobby’s girl
loud to keep out the cold –
when no one could hear me,
and call me a sissy
Do you wanna dance?
(puberty slaughtered innocence –
but my ‘first time’ was postponed… indefinitely –
‘Swinging London’ never swung for me)
wore crisp new blazers
from official outfitters,
I looted the school lost property box
football boots and socks,
plimsolls and a running vest
the annual cross-country…
skirt the cornfield hotfoot
sprint the path by the army camp,
follow the riverbank,
turn back for home at the blasted oak –
the crowd applauding
me leading
school-masters’ smiles
at my victory
lit my day – for just a day
then back to shaking heads
over my inadequacies,
and frowns
I pretended not to see
scavenging cast-offs
like Cox’s cap from the ‘lost’ box
(his folks were loaded anyway)
summed my school days
better than reports portraying me
as ‘an amounter to not very much’
but my daily rodeo-riding
miles of winding lanes
singing my heart out
whatever the weather
for no one to see.