Gauche
 
Glued to your mirror
like Narcissus to his pool,
you’d apply your weaponry
of powder, shadow, rouge —
enough to make fey beauty
more pronounced
but not enough to get told off at school.
 
You’d touch and retouch, blot it off, re-do,
your mother looking on with pride
as blue eyes grew more blue,
your skin blushed pink
beneath the make-up brush.
 
And I was awed yet horrified –
such things were forbidden me.
At last we’d leave, walking side-by-side,
you with poise, immaculate,
I in my heavy lace-up shoes
and wrinkled socks.
  
Gill McEvoy

If you have any comments on this poem,  Gill McEvoy would be pleased to hear from you.