A boy and his mother visit,
the end of the school day
and the label of his jumper
hangs out at the nape of his neck.
He has a book about spaceships,
and he is eating an orange lollipop —
his mother reads aloud, unembarrassed.
What a treat, to have a mother like that.
And when he is disappointed
by the lack of pop-up pictures
in the book, she promises him
a trip to the library:
how precious, to keep the power
of reading, the celestial language
of words and images,
ever-present in a child’s life.
Until the sugar hits, and
instead of a wise man
orbiting the moon, he is a child again,
asking for crisps, asking
to never leave the place
with coffee, cake and sweets
but his mother is patient.
What a treat, not to be sworn or yelled at,
not to be taught the common place pain
of a clip round the ear.
And I hope he knows
this woman is a angel and he, a little god,
unfolding life through the milky way
of a mother’s kindness.
