The glittering clothes sent from Pakistan <br />wern't fitting for a teenage girl in London town <br />The apple-green sari, silver-bordered, <br />wasn't quite what the young girl ordered. <br /> <br />Unlike Aunt Jamilla who reminds me a bit, <br />of Lady Camilla, <br />but brown. <br />Looks quite the part in southall town. <br /> <br />If I put me glad rags on and went to town, <br />me mates would think I was the local clown. <br />The clothes are very nice, don't get me wrong <br />but I'm not sure where I belong. <br /> <br />I've tried them on and slipped them off again <br />and, I'll settle for me cosy corduroy or denim. <br />Back in the wardrobe where they'll stay for a while. <br />I have no intention of wearing them, <br />they're really not my style. <br /> <br />I see an image of my mother <br />stripped of her identity. <br />Cherished glistening jewellery <br />in its entirety <br />she was an onlooker from afar <br />the goods were stolen from her car. <br /> <br />I feel my Aunts' are quite neurotic, <br />wanting cardigans from somewhere exotic, <br />I picture them with compassion, <br />sitting in their zany fashion, <br />In me uncle's van <br />over there, in Pakistan<br /><br />Carole Coogan<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/presents-from-my-aunt-by-carole-coogan-moniza-al/
