Jane
the friend I found in Junior Four,
only an ink well between side-parted
curling mouse and wispy straw clipped
with kitten slides, her nose wrinkling
to up her specs and make some sense
of chalk-dust scrawl
till playtime bell when we’d sneak
past skippers, kickers, hula-hoopers,
to gallop away on Silver and Flicker,
following the Laramie trail along
yellow tramlines ruled on asphalt,
the 11-plus under our belt.
She was sick that June, a month
away from school. Returned to find me
playing with Davina, who held me tight
through dreaded Thursday dancing and
made me do the man steps.
With Jane I’d always been the girl.