Unimportance of Being Part III

British 1920s children's tricycle being ridden...


In the drive way she played

Tipping a tricycle onside

Using a tire for a steering wheel

Driving hard against the tide


From the weekend fisticuffs

That spilled out onto cut stone

From the bloody dangling ear

Drunken near broken fist bone


Driving away was always easy

Coming home reverberating shock

Silence, silence, silence

Of this we must not talk


Fear of playing too loud

Or even playing at all

Could press a flowering child

Into papering many a wall


One day she, startled, rushed

To set the trike upright

Lest she be doing wrong again

Still and quiet the best fight


A child no more, nor silence

Will she endorse

Carrying no shame for adults

Displaying no remorse


Yes, there are secrets deep

She will no longer hide

She cherishes what they never did:

The wee, tiny girl inside.


JAM 30Mar2012