Miss O’Connor’s Wall

Beyond the playground wall
Miss O’Connor walks among the roses
We spy on her through the half-dead tree
In the corner of the path

Furtive
We watch our headmistress
Off-duty      as she glides elegantly
Among the blooms
A trug held in the crook of her arm
Black hair clipped in a perfect bun

The charm of it
Is the secret assignation we have with her
Half admiring     half in awe

Conscious of our imperfections
Our dusty plimsolls jammed into wall cracks
Fingers digging into soil we watch     sweating
Dirt under our fingernails

Girls who will never be perfect
Who will always be a disappointment
Have played rough in the playground
Bullied the fat girl in the Nissen hut
Carried out arcane ceremonies
Sworn the worst swearing

Dared

We are forever outsiders
Beyond Miss O’Connor's wall
As she bends her elegant head
To smell the perfect rose

Our books a smudge of ink and finger marks
We are marked as failures in her Book of Life.