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window shopping.

we’d all run out of school, girls & boys,
across the playground
giggling & shouting
 - and a rumour went up -
spread by telepathy maybe,
that Yvonne was showing all the boys
her gash
behind the wooden classrooms.
we ran over, too late,
as Yvonne was disappearing –
a flash of yellow knickers
with her pre-pubescent beaver safely put away.
but we weren’t really bothered,
 Malcolm & me,
as the main attraction still lay ahead,
the real deal,
waiting at the school gates,
the gathering of mini-skirted mothers
waiting for their offspring
- if only they’d have known
what dark daydreams
these two ten year olds were entertaining
behind those innocent smiles.