Get OFF!  

        You're not meant to hurt girls. 

This was news to me, I can tell you. 

The not hurting bit. 

        Get off her, you creep.  

Didn't even get to the pummelling part - for a change - Yay! Score!  

Trolled on my back looked up. 

Ah... David.  

No wonder. 

        You right? 

        Uh huh. 

        What was that about, then? 

        Not much. 

It never was much really. 

        Me: Blinking into the sun, worshipping. 

        You: Chewing your lip, uncertain. 

        Come on then. (Giving me a hand) I'll show you something.  

        You'll like it. I promise. 

And he did. His father's pigeons. 

. 

The chicks had started pin-feathering. 

I thought they were pretty rank, actually. 

Fat little scrotums with pus-yellow down and blackened eyes. 

Yuk. Grotesque.  

He had to kidding - didn't he? 

But David scooped one up tenderly. 

Told me to nest my little fingers, be very, very careful. 

Released the little chick into my care as if it were something sacred.  

Whispered: informing teaching.  

And I began to see them through         his         eyes. 

Why they were covered in darted pimply projections. 

What a pair is called and why. 

How they navigate the air. 

Return home. 

Carry messages. 

The miracle of them. 

He looked down at me with his soft blue eyes 

as if I were a little chick too. 

Answered every stupid question. 

Explained that if I wanted to get on with the...  

other boys 

I should let them beat me         occasionally. 

Not hit, no!         Not that. Never that.         That was unacceptable. 

But perhaps to let them win - occasionally - would make them  

hate less.  

He was wise from experience.  

        But not all the time, though, he amended  

        Don't let them win always. No. Then he grinned. Our little secret. 

My heart swelled with new knowledge and gratitude. 

He would have been... what? Fifteen then? 

. 

Segue forward a few years 

I have been granted permission to flock a disco. 

Well supervised. (Bouncer-like parent-guardians scattered) 

No 'out' passes. (Should think not) 

Oh  

and my sisters were there 

to reel me in 

if needed. 

I was dreamy-dancing in front of the banked up speakers. 

On my own (normal). 

original interpretation (hahaha). 

Noise and vibration sapped breath. (ignore, ignore) 

Surround jerky repetitive movement. (No imagination, some people) 

Mi Sex* was com pu pu pu pu pu pu putering 

Sprung floor ace for bounce. (leap, spin) 

Don't know if I remember this bit right  

but here goes: 

Commotion.         Something happening at far end of hall. 

Doors swing         in open.         Bang wall?         Sound effect?

- impossible. So... no. 

Dance floor parting as if cosmic comb 

being dragged through hair-people. 

More than just a parting of the waves         a parting of the species. 

. 

Ah... David.  

No wonder. 

White hair. White suit, fluorescing  

disco ball lights 

colour dancing, streaming, caressing, acknowledging 

him. 

Pale pink satin shirt 

long collared and... and a matched carnation... yes. 

Am I remembering right? 

White leather patent boots - shining         shivering. 

Stop in the middle.         Stop.  

No music now. I can't hear any anyway. 

Hear my heart though - k-thump k-thump. 

Lift one long arm point finger at mirror ball roof. 

Ahhhhhhh, David.  

Go David, go you show them.