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  day dream or take a doze.
In  our mill towns we had  no hedge
It was a metaphor I  grudged.
Later, with our  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 never  know our clitoris
By a  lover’s soft caress
So get together  while you can
Before they drop  that  bloody bomb