Childhood Parties, by Liz Mills

I remember a party when I lived in Scarborough.
It stopped for the Shipping Forecast.
We all sat reverently, children of fishermen or lifeboatmen.
I knew this mattered.

Another in Liverpool came to a halt
to watch Bill Shankly on TV,
knowing that football was more important
than a party, life or death.

But I’ve never been to a cutting party,
where little girls in new clothes
wait excitedly for their turn
to go into the next room and become a woman.

2 thoughts on “Childhood Parties, by Liz Mills

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