In my cookery exam, we have to prepare a family meal

This is summer
and Mum can’t put out
her trot line with its hooks
because of swimmers
so I buy three mackerel
from the fishmonger.

I cycle to the school bus stop
one arm on the handlebar,
carrying my ingredients
in a square biscuit tin
under my other arm.

In the cookery room
I slit the fish open,
bright-eyed, translucent 
green and silver,
tip the guts and
maroon hearts
into the bin.

I scrape off the scales
with a blunt knife, 
place the fish under the grill.

On the plate
I pipe mashed potato
around them
in rosettes.

My cookery teacher is pleased.
I come first in the exam.