GIRLS I KISSED AT CAMM'S SCHOOL (A KISS AND TELL)

for JB

Kathryn Walker was my first in nursery
and again in reception, and once
in year three under a table on maths
rotation and three times in Lincoln.

I kissed Joanne Bainbridge at the same
time my sister and Andrew Bainbridge
were marrying each other via
a shoebox of plastic rings and letters.

Jessica Baines, Gemma Dodd, were both
girls I tongued under the weeping
willow in year five and Jessica Baines
invited me to her 10th birthday party.

Finally, Jenny, I think, at least once,
and Katrina Cooper and Rebecca Wright
and Sarah Bailey twice.

NAPPIES

for EM

Nobody told us the baby
would make so much shit. Nobody

warned us the piles of nappies
that propped up the rocker was

unconquerable. We were buried
in walls of elasticated waist bands

that pinched our hips. Gave us rash.
We were Sudocrem freaks. Washed

our hands every six minutes.
Worried about dysentery and anthrax

and rats. But we love the warm
parcel each morning and calm

the accompanying sobs. The child
is colic or sick or overfed

or underfed, or just walking in nappies
as if she were filling her britches.

To hell with the nappies.
May their stinking white edifice rise

out of the dustbin like a Triffid
attempting to strangle the house would.

SISTER

for MH

I was Meatloaf. Sindy watched

you stalk towards me in mum's heels, too high

to walk in. You were her,

hanging round that joint, I didn't know

anything about you sister. Dress me up

in mum's old frocks, take photos.

Dance the lyrics; deal cards, laugh,

Dark Lady paint black magic.

We knew the strut to Turn Back Time,

arse bumped for kicks. It was your first

CD album, mine was Texas.

I remember Christmases, top-to-toe;

Rocky Horror, Halloween, Child's Play.

The video woman was a car boot of death.