Miss Representation

[Keith]

When she was seven
we played a game,
matching heads to bodies and legs,
a little girls face, strong arms
with anchor tattoos
footballers legs
and army boots.

And so she made the image match
stronger faster quicker,
hard to catch,
brighter braver better
than the best.
She became herself.

At seventeen they dropped the veil
of the beauty queen, eating only apples
to fall fast asleep.
When she woke I cried,
thinner weaker slower
something died inside.
Quiet dull compliant,
tethered to the tugboats pull.
She wanted the boys
to flock like gulls.

At twenty one she started to see
beyond the braille books
of how a female should look
in preparation for male approval,
an ill placed hand can break
the darkest of spells.

So now she stands ahead of the table,
pens take note when she speaks
a guide for the weak, all are equal.
The papers reported her success
with questions of tummy tucks
and real or fake breasts.
They missed the anchor tattoo.