kept falling out
kept moving on
I had a friend in school with the same name as me.
It bound us, Ava, twinned us – changed the way
we were with others when together,
name twins
in twos your stock goes up,
a plural, safe – the self concealed within
dual selves.
She and I
did all the normal girlhood stuff together –
we huddled,
we imagined,
lay on our stomachs on the beach
read from the same magazine,
fake-tanned each other,
drew tattoos in biro on our wrists,
made up dance routines and songs,
wrestled under the gunnera at the local pond
ate strawberry laces
played hide and seek
took turns to suffocate the other with a sofa cushion,
rode BMXs,
dived off the rocks,
and once I pushed her in a wheelbarrow through the
town, a ribbon round her neck, calling,
girl for sale! girl for sale!
I played the flute back then – I know, Ava!
Just call me Pan – though it was tourists
not my flock we serenaded,
her on the clarinet.
A little money tossed our way to spend on gum –
chewing… bubble…
gum was quite important at that time, Ava,
I should explain –
see, schools are made to teach sex-ed these days, by
law – I think that’s good – no nonsense, bits and bobs,
mechanics, risks, how it all works, condom on a banana,
done –
but we got none of that.
