They were both in the dark,
She lied about her age,
The young Coldstream guard
About his experience.
While he took her to pieces
Slowly, she watched a spider's web
As it shone in the sun
Like a long playing record.
Laid out in the grass,
Her shrivelled thights, the wings
Of her nylon bra. Virgins.
She thought about, yes,
The Hokey Pokey
And wanted to laugh...

Six months later, the weather
Turned conveniently cold---
A coat was possible indoors.
All the mirrors grew convex,
She fingered the globe
In its pregnant question mark.
Her father's miniatures
Were little models of perfection---
The Vatican, St Paul's
Westminster Abbey and Cathedral,
All made from Safety Matches.
He chopped their busbies off
With a tiny grunt,
As if he knew...

The brown aspirin bottle
Held a genie of cotton wool
And five hundred bitter wishes.
Counting carefully,
She vomited at the forty first.
A week. Another week.
She felt the pain of liver
Writhing on the pan,
Turned off the gas and crawled,
Past an infinity of stair rods.
God danced on his cross
At the foot of her bed
Like Nijinsky having a heart attack...

Brought by the police, her father
Listened in his dressing gown.
She wouldn't come out of the river
Or give up the shoe-box
Under her arm. Headlights,