Bra On A Barbed Wire Fence
Puberty
Was quietly brooding
Self consciously
I stumbled
Uncoordinated
Through the surprise
Of growth spurts
And new
Obsessions
Back then,
What had been
The sussuration
Of women's voices
Had become a roar
("I am woman!
Hear me...")
And the colours
Of this war's pennons
Were those
Of burning bras
Nearly 50 years since
I stumble across
A bra
On a barbed wire fence
All softness
And lace
Enmeshed in
Pike and barb
And wonder at
The prequel
To this
Mise en scene
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