We who live on the fringes
of the working-class
know her all too well.
A tulip of a child,
precociously blossoming
at eleven or twelve,
cute and acutely aware.
Never knowing her father,
her mother changing
boyfriends like fashion,
new each season.
Little girl's mind flush
with women's hormones,
she wraps herself around
the first small male kindness;
a good warm hug what she needs,
but has learned but one way
to express love.