Second Degree Exam Trauma

Engrossed in my book, I cheat them all

into looking through me to the stark

magnolia walls.  I'm surrounded

by children, by noise and happy chat.

And I do not belong in this room

where I'm sat.  Mums and Dads together

look proud of their High Flying children

and they're equally loud with their praise

and their stories of their wonderful

lives - and for a fleeting moment I

suspect it's all lies.  I'm distracted

by my daughter as she skips over

to me, looking nervous and anxious

and ill-fitting like me.  I give her

a smile and a wink and I say, 'It

will all be over soon and we'll be

on our way.'  As she gives me a hug

I feel people looking.  I'm aware

that they've spied the holes in her clothing.  

Second-hand garments that the Mistress

had saved, given out to ensure that

they all look the same.  Of course that is

what matters in this high flying game. 

Once my babe has been called, my fingers

twitch as I roll the tobacco.  It's

time for my fix.  I blush as I hear

some tight-bunned Prima Donna tell her

mama in an alarmed voice that I'm

smoking and vulgar.  Her mother looks

at me.  I do all in my power

to make myself magnolia.  There

is just one more hour to go 'til

I'm away from these Brats.  I do not

belong in this world where I am sat.

After what seems like an age turning

page after page, my daughter arrives

and I silently pray that she has

Adagioed and Arabesqued her

way through the exam.  She looks happy.

We are leaving.  I'm finally calm.

(c) Claire Alison 2017