It was she, Buruch
remembered, it was
Shlomit, who during
a nature study class
at school, had raised
a hand to be excused
to go to the loo (other
kids would have said
the lavatory or toilet
depending on their
breeding or class),
but the teacher, Miss
Ashdown, said, no
you should have gone
before. A few minutes
later, Buruch recalled,
she peed on her chair
and floor and a boy
nearby the scene said,
Shlomit's **** herself
Miss. There was a sea
of sounds around and
the teacher frowned
and with beady stare
told her to get out of
there, and told another
girl to go with her to
the nurse to wash and
change (nothing worse)
and sobbing left the room.
Yes, it had been she,
Buruch remembered,
and she hadn't returned
anymore that afternoon.
Gone home, he now
suspected, in borrowed
underwear, her others
washed through by nurse
who said, that will have
to do; and home to her
parents, mother's chide
and father's hand or belt
(who firmly with either dealt).
But to day, after lunch
in the upstairs hall, he'd
gone with her to Bedlam
Park, and showed her
his killer brown conker
on threaded string, a
three penny piece his
grandfather gave, and
she showed him the new
handkerchief her mother
bought her, flowered
with red border. And
she'd kissed him shyly
on the cheek and he
smiled and looked to
the ground, hoping none
of the boys were around.
Yes, it had been Shlomit
who had wet herself
and chair and floor and
been sent away, but she
was dry now and had
kissed his cheek today.