That bloody bomb

When I was young and almost here
I had a problem with my fear.
My mother’ d not known what to do
And I kept running to the loo
At last the doctor’s mind was clear
They sent me to a nuclear seer.

The man looked up, the man looked down
I’d never seen him in the town
He asked me if I had bad dreams
Or ruined my sleep with howls and screams
I never knew quite how to say:
The nuclear bomb might go astray.

They told us what to take inside
The nuclear shelter, where we’d hide
Tampax weren’t allowed as they
Might break our hymens on the way
So we had our bags of pads
As seeing our blood ‘d dismay the lads

We must lie down in the hedgerows
But not daydream or take a doze.
In our mill towns we’d no hedge
It was a metaphor I grudged.
Clutching bags of bloody cloths,
We would come out and see God’s wrath.

On the nuclear fires, we’d burn
The sanitary towels society spurned.
I hope before the bomb comes back
The Bishops will permit some slack
For Tampax are so small and neat
Our bin would have an odour sweet

We might be turned into grey ash
And our hymens all out-blast
We’d not enjoy sweet love and sex
Nor send our lovers teasing texts
So get together while you can
Before they drop that bloody bomb