‘When you do dance, I wish you a
wave o’the sea, that you might
ever do nothing but that’
Razzle dazzle, oh, what a song and dance!
‘Stand tall, turn on the phrase, five, six, seven, eight’
Gyrating, pulsating, this one big change
Whispers in the dressing rooms, ‘Is she late?’
All those Pirouettes of hopes and dreams
Pushy mothers battle for centre stage
Only sixteen, costume bursting at the seems
Swollen tummy, three missing monthly’s rage
Hopes dashed, big mistake, the family’s disappointment
Childhood goals of Andrew Lloyd Webber
Teenage late night parties she did frequent
Backstage gossip ‘was it that cute tenor?’
Dad indoors dances a jig with his fist
What a waste, for a growing waist, lustful, tryst!
‘For you and I are past our dancing days’
Mother says ‘Abort, abort, abandon ship'
'Remember you have options’. Adopt? Abortion?
Leaflet in hand says avoid the cheese dip
Sleepy foetus, peaceful in contortion
lingers in her mind, how could she kill it?
Secretly, she hopes for a miscarriage
He played his games, but would never commit,
empty promises, no ring or marriage
A life for a life, death sentence for thrills
She’s got to grow up quick, trouble and strife.
But, not grown up enough to take her pills.
Mother, maybe? But she’ll never make a wife
‘Do you want to know the gender?’ Magic jelly
Strong small heartbeat, on a grainy telly.
‘You jig, you amble, and you lisp’
Pushy mothers of the stage and the screen
Living their dreams vicariously
Wire coat hanger in hand, vain and mean
Walking a tightrope precariously,
daughters aim to please, but hair brushes do whip,
hair into tight buns of hairspray and pins
and needles in dance shoes. ‘Don’t give me lip’
‘You were late on the beat, practice your spins’
It’s a cycle you see, mothers to girls
Bitter in failure and something to prove
Joan Crawford, Mommie Dearest, hair in curls
‘Get it together, get into the groove’
Just because, you didn’t make it Mom
Childhood trauma, is a ticking time bomb!
Copyright © Sarah Armstrong as ‘Dita Kelly’ 2021