Tea Party

It's funny how some memories of childhood stay fresh and clear, while others disappear.  I came across this memory in some notes I'd made on childhood during my course, and had to write them up before they disappeared once again.  

My nineteen guests sit in a circle

Splay-legged on the carpet,

Silent, eyes blank, looking straight ahead

As if in the company of strangers.

A mixed, assorted bunch,

From tiny dolls with painted hair, 

To blue-eyed, blonde-haired Fiona,

Standing half my height, my latest friend.

Mixed in between, with no distinction made,

The hunched and furry bears,

Reaching out their worn and clumsy paws

Towards impossible teacup handles.

The shaky teapot pours juice into their cups,

Red plastic plates are passed around

To share the iced ring biscuits politely,

Though every one is bitten by my proxy teeth.

The party warms up as 'tea' and biscuits disappear,

Guests slump in their places, inhibitions lost,

As they regain the toy box familiarity 

Of limbs and torsos jumbled in a heap.

A call from Mum and the guests are forgotten,

Forever left behind in their collapsing circle,

In the room with the farmyard wallpaper,

Amd the bed with its pink candlewick bedspread.