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.
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