Years Slip By

Back then I sat in a high chair
with swirly soft porridge and milk.
I told my hand to use a spoon
and it worked! I squealed with delight.

It's dinner time now and we're far too loud.
We sit with our hands on our heads;
the quietest one gets a sweetie.
I bet it's Richard (the nannies like him).

I play netball on a Tuesday at 6.
There's a girl there called Catherine Bell.
She's horrible and no one likes her,
but she bribes me with chips 'cos she's rich.

Hanging around the streets is fun,
with a group of thugs everyone's frightened of.
But Jonesy is hungry and has no money.
I take his "Tainted Love" for rice.

Oh John and I, we're so in love!
We're getting engaged when I'm seventeen.
A cafe has opened in the village;
we drink coffee, play pool and look ace.

Administration. Christ, how did I get here?
The boredom is murdering my mind.
Office parties fuelled with cocktails and wine.
Dull people now loudly dull.

Sparkling eyes and champagne,
painted fingernails, a new ring.
A banquet and music, laughter and love.
Generations of hope gathering.

Fresh orange and organic food;
a resolution to eat healthily.
It has it's purpose of course,
but I'm keeping that a secret.

It's 6am and my baby wakes.
He won't sit in his high chair but still,
he loves swirly soft porridge and warm milk
and waves his spoon around with delight.


There's a new China Town in the city;
the Indians have lost their monopoly.
And the chip shop sells magic mushrooms.
It's quite legal, apparently.

I work here as a dinner lady,
watching all these tiny smiling people
eating pizza, pies and teddy bear cakes
and saying broccoli is just not nice.

John died at the height of last summer.
I laid out the comfort for grief
with wet eyes and cold emptiness.
Could I ever recover from this?

But now the loss of youth is eased.
With my grandchild, I walk in the sun.
He doesn't care for swirly porridge at all.
Ah well, time moves on...

Miakoda 2005




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