Friday, 23 March 2012

Forgetful Me

It was just forgetfulness I swear and the
daily domestic disaster of getting
two boys and a girl to school, a
days shopping planned, the heat that
made sense of the short sundress.

It wasn’t until the escalator in the Mall and the
soft whistle from below that I discovered that my
knickers were beautifully ironed in their
proper drawer but not on me and I
flushed as I wondered what they could see, those
men down there, looking.

The higher I went the more they would see and
I was suddenly wet thinking of it, wondering if I was
well-groomed, wanting desperately to
root in my bag for something I didn’t need and
pondering whether I owned
enough shoes.

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