It's New Year, 1979, at Funderland in the RDS in Dublin. 
In the cold calculation of the January air, a young girl tries to talk 

I like to stay up
and listen
when big people talking
jumbie stories

I does feel
so tingly and excited
inside me

All you see is outside me: my painted smile,
the rosy-posy shell, the fluttery eyes.
A butter-won’t-melt-in-my-mouth-type me

Toothless, she kisses
with fleshy lips
rounded, like mouth
of a bottle, all wet

She bruises your face
almost, with two
loving tree-root hands.

Well I shouldn’t’ve been playin’ really 
Only there to watch me brother
My friend fancies his friend, y’know.
Anyway they was a man short.