RDW's poems

Spoons

Teenage girl in hotel breakfast room
eating with her dad   Must be her dad
He leans away while she – with her fingers – eats
Fruit cocktail

Dabs wet fingers on the side of the bowl
or licks them; eats again   Head down   Slouched
Slouched back and forward at the same time
I am not of this world:  I’m otherwise

Bored pained bugged pushed pulled
I never asked to be here anyway
I have not opted in, and eat my fruit cocktail
with a difference, and await another world

Dear difficult daughter

It’s not that you too soon and much too much
will enter and be entered into this spoon-filled world
and tell your own son or daughter or niece or whatever
who also is still not of this world

to use a spoon   Maybe you won’t
Your father looks away, and good for him
He should, really, pat you on the back
and say ‘well done!’   That would mortify

And here am I, with grandchildren
that I wish to raise to disobedience
but their mothers are my own difficult daughters
and I look away

It is so near a thing, to be back there
myself, slouched back, head down,
dismissive of the world –
and its spoons

June 2006

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