MR. AND MRS. REES'S SON -

It was close, I think, to Bonfire Night,

On an evening as dry as unlit wood;

Some girls were laughing through a game of fun

As we boys scoured houses for rubbish.

“No, kid!” a bigger boy warned. “Not in there!

In there is where the strange thing lives – in there!”

I stood as he and the others ran on.

I looked up at the pale, lit window,

The frail, tatty curtains open enough

For me, a voyeur, to see someone’s life.

Then a hand like a jolt came into view,

A spasm, an almost silly salute,

Which turned into a hand grasping at air,

The fingers struggling like young dying fish.

Then a hurt howl and grunts shook my young world -
They were so loud the whole street must have heard.

Frightened, I ran to catch up with my friends,

My fears making up all kinds of things.

I caught up with the voices and faces
I knew. I was too young to understand

That the hand belonged to someone’s poor son

Locked in a body - cerebral palsy

As I ran to my friends, I could not see

A family of three trapped in their love:

A Dad calming the body of his son,

A Mam cradling the wild head of her child.

Pubished in PATERSON LITERARY REVIEW (USA), 2022

MR. AND MRS. REES'S SON