Just when you’ve squeezed the last tiny bit back, then sat on it, stood on it, pleaded then kneed it, over- -bursting the seams until belted and bound, the time for no more, surely a long push passed, then, only then, a vital cog, finally found with odd shaped sides, the sterilising kit, for the latest child I sigh, with a hopeful look Other child, yawns, resigned, his job, he states, “is just to drive’ and then, “remember?” as if I could forget. A row to rue. Eyes to the ceiling, a silent protest, ( ignored ) as start the unwrap of cheapest, his purchase, stuck sticky brown tape an ever reluctant prise, (for a woman) frenetically freed, and finally ex-mummified case, ready to refill again. After hands and knees, a numbing derrière we’re packed again, minus heels and a skirt thoughtfully lined with bits of a shirt, his, he won’t miss bursting through holes, here and there, thinking, please don’t drop this, or leave in a puddle, my sunny vacation, spent on a rack, or balcony, drying And just for a second, was there staring at endless shores, and perhaps ( close your ears, little one ) enjoying an Italian? Not sat on a floor in rain soaked here, with a grumpy Greek.
If you’d like to find out a bit more about this poem, click the link to the page “Explained” which shines a light on the background to each poem, or helps you to understand what the heck’s going on if you’re a bit baffled!
Paul Horne 