This poem won Swanwick 2008 Poetry Competition:

Who needs diamonds anyway?

"They’re not diamonds, silly!"
Kathy Smith said, pig-tailed, porcelain-skinned,
(So pretty she made me sick)
She snatched the brooch from my hand
And ran across the play-ground.
"Miss, she’s got my brooch, my granny gave it me!"
(I said to the dinner lady)
"Shouldn’t bring jewellery to school," she frowned.
"But Miss!"
"Didn’t you hear the bell? In now!"

I never saw my brooch again.

There was a school reunion last week,
Kathy Smith was there,
Grey-haired, grey-skinned.
"Hello, remember me?"
She gave a giant crow-footed smile.
"Of course I do," I replied, seething inside.
And while we drank tea she told me how
Her husband had walked out and that
She had two sons, both born dead.
"And you?" She asked, nibbling a cream bun.
"Married, five children, three grandsons."
(Not seething so much now)
"I’m sorry I took your brooch,"
She suddenly announced,
"I still have it. Do you want it back?"
"No, keep it," I said,
"They weren’t diamonds anyway."
Then I got up and walked away.

Shirley Elmokadem

↑ top of page ↑