The glittering clothes sent from Pakistan
wern't fitting for a teenage girl in London town
The apple-green sari, silver-bordered,
wasn't quite what the young girl ordered.
Unlike Aunt Jamilla who reminds me a bit,
of Lady Camilla,
but brown.
Looks quite the part in southall town.
If I put me glad rags on and went to town,
me mates would think I was the local clown.
The clothes are very nice, don't get me wrong
but I'm not sure where I belong.
I've tried them on and slipped them off again
and, I'll settle for me cosy corduroy or denim.
Back in the wardrobe where they'll stay for a while.
I have no intention of wearing them,
they're really not my style.
I see an image of my mother
stripped of her identity.
Cherished glistening jewellery
in its entirety
she was an onlooker from afar
the goods were stolen from her car.
I feel my Aunts' are quite neurotic,
wanting cardigans from somewhere exotic,
I picture them with compassion,
sitting in their zany fashion,
In me uncle's van
over there, in Pakistan
Carole Coogan
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/presents-from-my-aunt-by-carole-coogan-moniza-al/
