She trails along the tired street of mean houses, and meaner people. The pram is pushed before her, pamphlets in the back. Stop,deliver. Stop, deliver.
This street is full of grannies who feel no need for cosmetics or prophylactics against ageing. They don’t rage against the ravages of time but accept them stoically as they accept the north-east rain and biting winds.
The brochure depicts a picture of a sexy siren. Dream on, girl.
At seventeen, bairn in tow, benefits backed; the father shacking up with someone else, what hope?
To help her on her way, I stay the execution with a paltry order for bath essence.
Dream on, girl, you’ll cope.
More writing by Mariann Harkness