Potts Farm Pig Sty

We hid in the pig sty the other side of the path That edges a cess-pool crossed by a little Wooden bridge where the run-off from the cow Shed passes just beneath, ahead the gate To farm front door accross the well kept grass I was not yet six. I know because we left the farm When I had reached that age. The sty, breeze block built with rusting roof Was where we met in secret, my older brother And I, with two girls from Guston Elms, A little down the lane. Felicity was the older one, Though I can't now remember the other Sister's name. One day we dropped Our pants to squat and watch, To see who could do a poo. Though we pushed and strained and egged Each other on, not one of us could do one. Older, it might have been a bit obscene. But we were only curious kids Just starting to explore (not really even friends) And we were well before that coming age When fig leaves need to cover shame.