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.

years
slip
by
so
quietly.

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