Eleven, and still learning.
We trudged to council estate Eden,
we loved to be well to do,
even though we didn’t know what to do.
We’d picked up the made up kids,
played house for years before it was cool,
behind the bike shed wedding,
but no kisses, please. That’s for the bad kids.
We learned to love in fiction,
before the tracing paper divorce.
We each took a kid, and wept.
The passionate shepherdess lost her sheep.