Full Moon in Cancer Christmas Day, 1977

I, ignorant, molly coddled,
 aged fourteen , outsider to pierced,
 bright red mohicanned,
 black bin bag dressed peers
 on the bus, Christmas Eve.

 Sexy ultraviolet lasses
 in black tights and dockers,
 kohl eyed intelligence
 scares my Burton’s suit.

 Fascinated by safety pinned
 noses, brazen forward face
 of defiance, I wince
 into a corner, my mam’s

 “Acceptable behaviour”,
 “When you have your own
 house you can dress how you like.”
 And my step dad’s knuckle
 marks pulse on my jaw.

 Hard to rebel when cossetted,
 pot pourried, warm duveted,
 hugged and soggily kissed
 by grandparents, all Sunday Bested
 under this Long Cold Full Mooned
 Christmas Day.

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