Role Reversal

I apologise for the long delay from the last post. I’ve been away. I had planned to continue with feet (a follow up to the last post) but I haven’t written it up yet. Next time. For now, here’s a poem written after one of those nights, which seemed endless at the time.

Role reversal
Three a.m. – out of bed again.
Radiator stone cold. We stand
arms linked while I whistle
Red Red Robin, which you
fail to recognise.
I try Colonel Bogey.

Another, about toothbrushes, pink and blue,
who meet by the bathroom door,
elicits a smile. Memory glimmers –
maybe.

It’s a tune you used to whistle
when I was tiny, to make
me wee before bed. Now,
urine bottle held over a willie
no daughter expects to know so well,
I whistle for you
my entire repertoire.

 

 

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