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privates on parade.

sticky remnants of dreams

of nightmares

cobwebs on my face –

I brush them away

as I realise that I'm

not lying on a beach after all

but sitting cross-legged

in full Hungarian national costume

in school assembly

 - the white frothy skirt

with red & green piping on the hem

keeps springing up

with a mind of it's own

& I'm gathering in armfuls of voile

holding it down

trying to hide my shame

 - a boy in a girl's skirt –

and all because

mum had left the ironing too late

again.

At least she could have done the knickers.