Gym Kit
- Grace Davies - poetry
- Jul 2, 2024
- 1 min read
Gym Kit
Knickers.
Gym knickers.
What was that about?
Black on the bottom
yellow on the top.
Tops that were top, because they covered us,
bottoms barely did.
We were stripped, striped
in black and yellow,
bees buzzing about
our honey pot.
Appropriate
for Manchester
of course.
Knickers.
For inside.
Black short skirts
for out.
Wrap around, combined with
tall hockey socks,
knee length
and a stick.
We performed
our passing out parade
past the rugby pitch,
past the rugby boys
unique in their arrogance.
Confident, that they never had to
wear knickers
in front
of
everyone
else.
It's no wonder then.
After marching
red legged and wind bitten,
that we attacked each other
on the field.
The only place
where
aggression
was
encouraged,
is
encouraged,
in
polite
young
ladies.

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