By Rosie Mapplebeck
The laser shocks your skin to acned spew
diminishing the beard-hair once I praised
reminding me I bought your grooming kit
to celebrate your growth into a man
not knowing that this hit a double blow
And when the sweat began to pour like mare’s
tail down your back, your silken shirt all slick
and dark with beads of masculinity
I only saw you hated sticky skin
did not perceive you would prefer to glow
When dancing women tugged upon your hand
your body hidden reticent beneath
the table of our feast, did you then yearn
to be one of the dancing girls instead?
Round many handbags you have danced alone
Your worry seems to be, you’ll disappoint
my dreams, perceptions, an expected norm
yet nothing here was ever “2.4”
My joy is learning who you are inside
your strong conviction making someone new.
Your room is still computer bits and games
and clothes dumped in accustomed random piles
I see a new line-up of cheap perfume
make-up and jewellery on the piano lid
Weep for a teenage girl I never knew.