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TEST-CARD-667462

I remember a sturdy

and probably bulimic

sophomore

called,

prosaically,

mary.

 

a plain jane with long mousy hair,

pouring me nescafe

in a college room

vaguely redolent

of vomit, a malodorous

trail that dogged her footsteps

like an accusatory finger

wherever she went.

 

I picture her looking

like the test card girl

grown up – and she

had that air of maturity

common to fat girls,

a middle-agedness

she would eventually

inhabit, a sensible

staid presence,

prematurely matronly,

maternal, disapproving

a mouth made to tut and tsk

and ‘just say no’.

 

how tiresome I thought her

as I longed to get away,

back to my wild

and winsome friends,

happy-houring our way

through that first term,

already dubbed

the problem children’

behind our backs.

 

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