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a poem by Maggie Butt

Faked pomp, fanfare and procession,
solemn cap-and-gown masquerade,
pretended lineage.

Students stacked high in rows,
like cans on supermarket shelves
waiting  in purgatory to be called.

Flamboyant body art tidied away
uniformly tamed by academic gowns
EEC stamped, sized and graded
as graduating sausages.

But at the edge of the dias
where most pray not to trip
or nervously finger wobbly mortar board,
one tall black girl theatrically casts off her gown
and underneath a tight black leather mini-dress
is sprayed onto her body.

She strides onto the stage, ignoring dignitaries,
- a hush – anticipation – stewards tense -
she raises up long arms and parts her feet
stamping a great black X against the academics
and slowly executes two perfect cartwheels
across the space where others nod obsequiously
arm and leg spokes suspended in the air
a V to the establishment

a V for victory.

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