It’s 1966, the year the Bishop of Clonfert protests when Eileen Fox says on National Television that she wore no nightie on her wedding night. We get off the train from Belfast. Mama links my arm in hers as we walk down the station platform. She is wearing a brand-new herringbone tweed coat bought on our day trip. She stops and puts a paper bag from Boots in each of my anorak pockets. “Don’t let the Customs Man see those,” she whispers. As we approach the desk at the end of the train platform, I fervently hope the Spangles in her handbag will be safe. Are they allowed? She smiles brightly at the Customs officer and says she is stone deaf. We are waved through with no search. We giggle as we leave the station, and she puts the secret purchases back in her handbag.

whoops of laughter—
filling condoms to bursting
on bathroom taps

Bio: Mary White