Taught sex on a Raleigh racer

Did I know where babies came from he asked me,

and like most kids I said hospital I guess.

Chasing through vandalised streets on his racer:

a six-speed Raleigh he’d named for the Skytrain.

Such innocent, unspoiled days. A paradise.

Me eight, him fifteen – both of us outsiders –

I’d perch white-knuckled on the rack at the rear.

Clasping his saddle stem, fearing for my life,

as he tutored me in how that life began.

Truth, a fruit to savour. This is how I fell.

The rest of that day spent flying, me shrieking,

‘DARREN PUT HIS WILLY IN NATASHA’S CUNT!’

Crowing till my verses reached my mother’s ears;

as my father’s hand reached the backs of my legs.

What did I care now? I had tasted knowledge.