First Day At School.

"Ley, muri kamili shay, ley,
- take darling, take
you big girl now, start school,
buy sweets in way home".
My father's eyes,
his smiling browngreen eyes,
colour of hedge, colour of earth,
are fires in a Gypsy encampment
on windblown steppes.

Mama tugs a comb through my hair
plaiting the strands, punctuating each yank
with an instruction.
"Don't be naughty,
don't be late,
don't answer the teacher back,
if you are naughty, they will say
it's because you are a dirty Russian,
because you are a Russian Gypsy."
She pulls my long black hair so hard, so hard
tears spring to my eyes,
my Gypsy browngreen eyes.

All day I clutch Dada's coin
in the palm of my hand, linking him to me.
"Ley, muri kamili shay, ley,
buy sweets in way home."
At playtime, I learn to skip to a new tune.
"My mother said
 I never should
Play with the Gypsies in the wood."

Afternoon sun goldbronze on that first day.
September air  heavy scented  by thirty infants,
thirty pieces of gold.
The coin rolls and spins across the floor
Round  goldbronze sun
warm from my hand
     clangs
     glints
 beneath a desk.

"Oh, somebody's dropped some money!
Whose is it?" asks Miss Parry.
No one moves. 
Acid drop taunts   -
"Thief" "Dirty gippo!"
ring in my head.

Silence. 
My throat is dry.
The coin, my coin - hypnotises me
a cold gold metallic eye.
Choking back a cough, longing for toffee
bitter sweetness haunts my mouth.

Jenny lifts her skinny hand
pushes mousy  hair from pale greedy eyes,
her voice a high pitched whine.

"Please, Miss," she says, "it's mine."