‘Girls’ by Annie Wiles

When we grow up
we’re going to rule the world.

After all, girls rule.

All the best artists start out like this,
wear bunny ears to work like this.

Right? All the best people start out
as waitresses: are told they’ll never

make it. Although, strangely
this seems to be missing

from Madeleine Albright’s biography.
Emily Dickinson and Nico

don’t say either. But whatever.
When we’re older, we’ll laugh about

stuff like this. We’re sure most politicians
have been told off by strange women.

Although, while Kendra yells at us
for ruining her bachelorette party,

(really, we didn’t think the cake
in the shape of pens was a mistake?)

we nod obediently, and reflect,
that this is the sort of situation

Hillary Clinton would never get in.
We pour rosé champagne – much like

probably Judith Butler did –
and corporate wives glare at us,

not because we vote for them to get taxed
or anything, and pick fights

with abortion picketers
in their pristine neighbourhoods –

but because they just don’t
like us. An army of Laura Bush lookalikes

stares at us when we drop a plate.
Is this our protest? Would Zadie Smith

be impressed with this?
We weren’t supposed to be like this –

decorative –
we wanted to be Rachel Maddow,

not the Disney princess. We never
wanted to be pointless.

How much brain space have these
thousand drink orders taken up? How long

before we grow up?
We wonder if there’s a train

we’ve missed. We wonder if Stevie Nicks
ever felt like this.

From issue #1: autumn/winter 2015

About the Author
Annie Wiles is a recent graduate of the creative writing program at Trinity. Since graduating, she has been teaching and working on a sailboat in the Pacific. Her poems can be found in Poetry Ireland Review 114, Boyne Berries 18 and The Bohemyth. She is currently working towards her first collection.