Enigma

Is no-one near you,
can no-one hear you
in this big concrete bag
blown up by the air of a
thousand mouths; lecturing,
and held tight by the chance to
get a good job and not have to be
like the girls working in McKenzies.
Walk along the dotted line
in your blue biro sneakers,
and sign yourself to the task
of stretching your brain.
Like Wiener Schnitzel, we'll pull
it and roll it with a milk bottle,
to remove the fat.
Say you'll never wander, and I'll
give you the world, wrapped
in a black ribbon,
when the heads are nid-nodding
in square black party hats.
Go on, let your hair grow,
and twist it to a frenzy
as you swot in midwinter hothouse
of library hush hush
books, a million and one,
and none to read.

Jane Odlin