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They imprison children
Not in dreams or fairy land
But in the cold queue in the shops
With kits on sticks and trees of toys
Dangling bitter bait
The boys' things and girls' things
The mirrors, combs and girls' goodies
That grab my daughter straight away
(Netted at school, hooked on TV
Girls go in girls corners
Wear beautiful skirts
Grow up quicker
Always share their sweeties)
I shake the hanging rack
The dead conveyor belt
Of tea sets, ironing boards, beauty kits, dolls furniture
Machine stamped guns, bombers, rigid action men
And dream of breaking their cages
But then a small plaything
Slips out of place
A simple printing set
Dislodged from the ranks
Which I offer her without fuss
Harmless as a hand through the bars
No. Don't want a boy's toy.
-But it's a boys and girls toy-
No. Want dollies things.
-Well sorry it's that or nothing-
Dollies things daddy. Want dollies things.
And I have to throw her pin her
Slap her screaming in the pushchair
And ambulance her off
(Fretting my refusal
Does it make the chains, the locks
More wished for, more treasured up
More firmly stamped in in the end?)
The fruits of the tree of knowledge.
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