The Man-Hole Cover

Walking along a dusty deserted street I have the urge to lift the man-hole cover Peep into the syrupy depths Where the sewer flows, the Styx of the subconscious Like the drowned past I've learned to keep the lid on. I learned this trick from my mother A very private person Who, walking down stone steps Felt the elastic snap On her wartime peach-silk knickers Felt them slip to her ankles Without faltering, she stepped out and away Commando style, after the drop Leaving a creamy gusset, Two coy black pubic hairs, Virgo intacta, dignity preserved.