Talking over our lives, as you do with a new love, I told Dónall about my troubled pre-pubescence, when I was convinced that I was abnormal and that I would never grow breasts like Marilyn Monroe's or even like Christine B's who was in my class at primary school and was an 'early developer'. This poem grew out of our conversation........ <br /> <br />One - two - three! <br />Christine B <br />her and me, <br />waiting for the school bus <br />at half - past - three. <br />The boys agree <br />she's a beauty, <br />not like me. <br /> <br />She's <br />ten years old, <br />busty, bold, <br />wears a belt <br />like nurses do, <br />little waist, <br />makes me blue <br /> - no - <br />green with envy! <br />Snakes alive! <br />Three - four – five! <br /> <br />Nineteen hundred <br />and fifty-five <br />I've got a tummy <br />like a bee-hive. <br />it's unjust, <br />I've got no bust <br />will I never <br />make boys lust? <br />Six - seven - eight! <br />just you wait! <br />Christine what will <br />be your fate? <br /> <br />Nineteen hundred <br />and sixty-two, <br />I grew up, <br />just like you. <br />Husbands, kids, <br />how time flew, <br />now if we should <br />meet again, <br />no more envy <br />no more pain <br />in two thousand <br />o o eight <br />no more bitching <br />no more hate - <br />no more fighting <br />over men – <br />we'd be sisters - <br />eight - nine - ten!<br /><br />Janice Windle<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/growing-pains-skipping-rhyme-skipping-time/
