A girl was born to country folk
who chose a soft, sweet name
though Mother saw in Sally’s eyes
a spirit none could tame.
She seized upon her mother’s breast
to suck with greedy joy
and pummelled when the flow was slow
just like a boisterous boy.
Some speedy need urged on her growth,
she heeded no restraint.
“Oh, Sal, you go through clothes so fast,”
was Mum’s pride-tinged complaint.
She started school and broke the rules:
she would not play with dolls.
Her teachers were perplexed and vexed,
tradition ruled their souls.
For even at this tender age
convention pressed her hard.
They weighed her feelings: “rebellious”
was marked upon her card.
But Sally heard a secret chord
that only brave hearts pluck;
the score for Sally’s symphony
was penned with her first f..k.
She lives a city lifestyle now,
her colleagues call her Sal,
but in her short-haired social set
her
playthings call her Al.
POET'S NOTE: I wrote this poem a few years ago in homage to a lesbian friend and very loosely based on her life. It is written in a very traditional ballad form which I felt made a kind of ironic comment on the content often found in traditional ballads, that of the tough man on the land battling nature to eke out a living.
The original has the rude word, but I thought I should soften it somewhat in case the young and innocent might read this blog. It's a family show, folks.
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