The boys sitting in front of me

At Primary Class

I was mesmerised


Jumping from boy to boy

A Circus of performing midgets

I could see them running dancing

Excitedly jumping up and down

Happy to rest in a boy’s hair

Every Saturday I knelt in front of my mother

My head on her lap

In her white blanket

Her fine comb

Dragging through my hair

As a farmer rakes the hay

She picked them one by one

And executed each with her nail

I could hear the thud of death

And we were free of lice

For another week.

Categorized as Poems

By Timmy Conway

By profession an Accountant By ambition a Politician By nature a Poet

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