endure whatever awaits me in this room.
Oh Ava, those years at school are
sealed beneath so thick a lacquer that even that week
failed to crack the surface.
Boredom on the tennis court
boredom with a bunsen burner
weekly planner
sad sandwich
mock exam
boredom vacuum forming a soap dish
reading Our Exploits at West Poley – of all the books they
could have taught!
Anyway, AFC came in one day,
we filed into the Elliott Hut – did you
have one at your school, Ava? – A sort of temporary
cabin in use for fifteen years and counting,
wind whistling through the plastic windows,
coats on kids!
and in that flimsy room, we happily chewed our
gum while listening to Mr C. explain that this was
SEX-ED.
Then Faith went round the room with a Tupperware box,
asked us to spit our gum into it,
we obliged.
Some lads did big dramatic gobs – strings
of saliva, phlegm – we squealed with horror
and delight.
Once she had this giant soggy mound of greyish
chewed-up gum, Faith went back round and offered it to
each of us again.
Here, why don’t you try a little. The box thrust
right beneath our noses.
Of course we all refused dramatically.
Gross!
Gag!
No!
It whipped us into quite the frenzy, Ava,
and there was Faith,
standing at the centre of our chaos,
shining, upright – a bolt – a beam – a shaft of sunlight
