Bea rolls the nose of a ballpoint
across paper, mapping her walk
home from school to the police.
She details the ducks, daisies
and buttercups. When she draws
the traffic lights she pauses,
talks about ducks again because
ducks aren’t the scary part.
There’s no green for the wings
so she outlines the lamppost instead
where she saw the man waiting.
It cranes over him like a surrealist
showerhead. She pretends to probe
the beige plush carpet to show
how she picked the flowers
like a sandpiper pecking for prey.
The man didn’t go.
Bea says she walked towards him
because that was the way home.
She didn’t want his smile
or his sweets so he tripped her
and that’s when she ran.
Our mother’s mouth falls open.
The feeble noise that escapes
makes Bea give the pen back
and a quiet panic settle
in her throat, like feathers.
Published by The Poetry Business as part of Abbie's poetry pamphlet 'Threadbare' in June 2020. To find out more or to buy the book, see here.
First published online in 2019 by YorkMix as part of the York Literature Festival.
Winner of the International Prize in the YorkMix Poetry Competition 2019, as chosen by judge Clare Shaw, who described it as 'a real gutsy poem which gives you something new every time you read it. Amazingly precise writing that demonstrates a gift for internal and external landscapes'.