I speak for those
with orange lunch boxes,
who play third tree
in an orchard of eight
in the annual school play,
who aren’t headgirls,
games captains, class monitors,
who watch other girls fight for the seesaw
from the far wall across the sand-pit,
who remember everyone’s lines
but their own,
who pelt after the school bus
their mother’s breakfasts still heaving
in their gut,
who still believe
there’ll be exams one day
they’ll be ready for,
Those with orange lunch boxes.
I speak for them.