Reflection

Pity the thirteen year old
as she arrives in school
bedraggled and unloved –
look in her eyes.
The other children point fingers,
jeering as she’s hauled before
the principal and named – Slut.

Listen – to the child talking
with authority about blow-jobs
with boys on the run from remand.
Between the lines she wishes she were
Enid Blyton’s “George – but
Gobbler is her name.

Have compassion – for the little girl
who takes alcohol and Valium in
exchange for sex with strangers
just to feel someone’s arms around her.
It’s hard. They call her Easy.

Pity the thirteen year old –
who passes off her semen stained
school skirt as soiled
with Horlicks from the café where
she works. Whore-licks the other
kids call her.

Let your pity bathe her, cleanse her.
Galvanise her.
Bring her into adulthood.
Name her. Call her. Me.


(c) Liz Willows 2000