Macho Man

I remember a time
when we were both just kids, teenagers
the camping holiday in the Lakes
a surge of moth-eaten tent days and nights.
A middle-aged man camping alone
just a stone’s throw away,
asking, would you like a cup of tea?
We could hardly contain our sniggers,
voicing, dirty old perv, under our breath.
A sad loner who gave us a ride to Pooley Bridge
in his three-wheeler Robin Reliant that tipped on the bends
we watched him dance to Black Lace with the little girls
at the church hall disco, watched as he jumped
into the air, giddy as a teenager
shouting, Macho man!

 

Rachel Burns has poetry published in Crannog, Poetry Salzburg Review, Algebra of Owls and is anthologized in Poems for Grenfell Tower, Poems for the NHS, and #MeToo. She has a poetry pamphlet forthcoming with Vane Women Press.