Mum’s Summer Mini Skirt
by Trisha Broomfield
Mum bought it from a jumble sale, lilac swirls, it suited the younger her she had in mind.
She tried it on before she’d even made a milky coffee,
jumping up and down, attempting to spy her thighs in the mirror tiles,
stuck to the wall above the bathroom sink.
We giggled, then said it was because we’d seen something funny in The Beano.
Mum was thrilled with her new mini skirt. ‘It’s cool, soft and flattering,’ she said, ‘not fattening.’
She opened chocolate Digestives to dunk in her coffee.
She laid the mini skirt on her yellow bedroom chair, out of our way.
We took turns trying it on, when she wasn’t looking hoiking it up,
jumping up and down, trying to spy our skinny thighs in the bathroom mirror tiles.
We wanted to be sixties chicks.
Mum only wore it to do the gardening, pulling out dandelions, sweeping green apples aside.
‘I don’t think the rest of the world is ready for me in this.’ she sighed.
