The Picnic

Fresh and happy
Young and new
We dance
Our ankles slinging wet mud
Upon the roasting potatoes

Hounded away from the adults
We creep
To the edge of the water
And slip our toes in cold
and slimy

After lunch
Talk has slowed to a minimum
Many stretch out and sleep on
The open ground
Grass on their backs

With the descent of evening
The birds begin to come out
A change has come
The flies are eating up the food

On the other side of the rive
Drunken revellers block our way
And as w try to pass
A little blood is spent

We were made to take off
our shoes
Sling them round our necks
And walk
Slip
Through the river
Water kissing my chin

The men stood brave
Stout with sticks
Protecting our passage
Us women
And children
Patter to the car

Nobody died
Just little injuries
I was surprised
It had looked mighty big
From where I was

They simply laughed
And drank their tea
Steaming hot
With pepper in it.