When I was a teenage girl, I was a dirty old man...

Today a strange little poem popped into my head and made it onto paper.
It had the just same rhythm to a poem from "The Mersey Sound".



















Penguin modern poets 10: The Mersey Sound. 1967. Henri, A. McGough, R. & Patten, B. Harmondsworth, Eng. : Penguin Books.

But I couldn't remember which of the 3 poets in the book wrote the poem. Roger McGough, Brian Patten, or Adrian Henri?
And I couldn't find a copy of the poem I wanted in my library or on databases or on the internet.
So I get home only to find that my copy of the book has gone walkabout. And I am so sad. Because it is the most wonderful book.
My god. Copies are listed on bookfinder for $15 - $40.
A slim little paperback, published in the 60's, that changed so many lives.

Funnily enough, I often come across the poets' names as the authors of kids' books. I always buy them for the library of course.

Anyway, here is how I remember the poem from the book:

There's something sad
about the glass with the lipstick on
that's pointed at with disgust
and sent back to the kitchen,

Like the girl with the hare lip
whom nobody wants to kiss.

I think I read this poem (and much of the book) hundreds and hundreds of times when I was a teenager.

And here is the strange half-poem that popped into my head today:

There's something sad
about a mutual crush
that fades beyond it's use by date.
Sweet smiles and the raising of eyebrows,
hoping to rekindle the buzz.

Like last weeks dessert,
that shouldn't be eaten.
Pulled from the freezer with the idea of reheating.

Not really earth shattering poetry. But I enjoyed the rhythm of it.

Another fave (oh I have so many!) from The Mersey Sound is one with the line "Mrs Albion, you have such lovely daughters". Which goes on to singing the praises of these young girls with slits in their panties.
And I remember that line every single time I go near or down Albion St in Surry Hills.
*Oh Mrs Albion, you have such lovely daughters!*

I worried, when younger and reading these poems written about nubile young lassies, by gents in the 1960's.
And I agreed with their sentiments as I sat reading the book in the playground in high school.
Leaning up against a tree and watching my friends flit around each other in their modified uniforms.
Yet also aware that there are blokes out there thinking the same about us girls. Dreadfully conflicting stuff.
How far could I condemn the guy stalking me in the park, who turned and followed me because I wasn't wearing a bra, when I myself thought about doing the same thing to other girls.