Monday, 23 August 2010


Eyes need stalks
And ears the ability to recognize a tuning fork’s twitch,
For when he pitches
I’ve got to try and catch him
Before the floor does,
And splits his lip,
Or bumps a brow
Or allows a bruise the room it needs to bloom.

And I know these trials
Are the same for all the contestants who bless them,
But my little guy
Seems to be trying more than most
As he staggers to stand
And grasps at thin air
Between a table and chair
And misses and slips forward a little awkwardly.

But so far I’m quicker
Than gravity’s grip and am able to save him
From any grave harm,
Though occasionally he evades me
And lands with a thump
On his well padded rump
Or more worryingly
Falls hurriedly forward and causes misfortune;

As his own sprightly sight
And rabbit keen hearing mean he’s speeding up,
And soon this toddler
Will be wobbling all over the house
And he’ll look like
A boxer’s whose just tried
To knock seven bells out of himself
And I’ll have to train my senses to lengthen their reach.

No comments:

Post a Comment