Was so bored during all those times,
All those boring times in my childhood,
Like the long drive to some parents� friend�s house
In the back seat of the car,
Playing the old glum race with the moon,
And wondering whether the clouds were bruising the moon
Or the moon was bruising the clouds,
Feeling the prickle of stiff lace from my new frock,
Listening to my mother talk about saucepans and correct posture,
With my father�s bald patch peeping above his driver�s seat at me
Like a cheeky sun,
My sister instantly asleep beside me like a boring angel,
So boring.
Then the dinner party,
Sitting still with warming lemonade and
Observing the odd symphony of mastication and conversation,
The flash of an earring and the basil between the teeth,
The baby that cried all the time,
Toothy smiles from other mothers,
The routine questions and answers,
While I would look at their shades of lipstick
And wish I could wear some.
The rhythm of it all, the same-old-same-old channel of behaviour,
Like a creature of habit, like an animal, oh
I was just bored out of my mind.
