Anne
A tomboy
She wore tatty jeans, cuffed ever-so-slightly
Never skirts, or tights, or heels.
Her flaxen hair beckoned
anyone and everyone
The air was choked by the blanket of raging testosterone
And envious estrogen.
Inhibitions gone
as those tatty jeans
Glide down her hips
Swan-diving, a perfect ten!,
into the lake’s embrace,
The leaves rustle
as Mother whispers in admiration
(Coral) Anne
A tomboy
I wear tatty jeans, cuffed ever-so-slightly
Sometimes skirts, sometimes tights, sometimes heels.
My hair is neither flaxen,
nor does it beckon.
But those tatty jeans,
they glide up my hips.
and I dive into each sunrise
gasping for air at sunset,
praying and pleading
for that perfect ten.
And with a kiss to my forehead
My mother sends me off
into the air’s embrace.