Fiona, you fell from a Gypsy Wagon

Fiona, you fell
from a gypsy wagon
and tumbled
into my street
where your family stayed
uninvited and free
for two weeks
at Sixteen years
of sweetness,
you were bereft
with shamrock eyes
a precarious figure
and hair
like a church roof theft
at dusk, the boys would gather
trading cigarettes, stolen
from grandfathers pockets
for a glimpse of flesh
through virgin eyes
you capitalised
on your healthy frame
lifting your top
for a nicotine habit
for a carton you told me
You’d make me a man
that night I stole
from my Mother's purse
with my bounty,
a box of shimmering gold
Benson and Hedges
in exchange,
for my youth
and the weight
of my Teenage curse
like Colombus heading
for dry land
looking for your cavavan
only to find
you had gone
leaving only
a broken TV
and my virginity.