‘Go wash, little children!’
And grabbing the Ivory soap,
we would head for the river.
Stripping down to our underwear,
jumping from the old wooden dock
into the cold crystal water,
we scrubbed and splashed
until we were slick as eels.
Dunking our soapy heads,
we burst to the surface-
water nymphs at play.
Finally, climbing back up
to lie drying in the sun,
basking like old hound dogs,
until we heard her call-
‘Time for supper, little children!’
And pulling on shorts and t-shirts
we ran from the river,
glistening like catfish.