Thursday 23 June 2016

Matchbox Milk Float


It was in a dream I had, a toy
Pale green with a white abstraction of milk crates
Up back. I think I had one like it
When a child, maybe a present, or perhaps
An impulsive purchase now remembered
Unbidden, to fit at night amongst my thoughts
Too crowded when awake, with fears
For a mother, so cast adrift, diminished by disease
That she would put a coat on over nightclothes
And head off to the shops, or try to open
Her back door with a fruit knife or a coin
Until I had no choice. The deception
Was the greatest of my life.
"This is like your lunch club,
"But they'll let you stay
"A little longer 'til we sort your doors."
I left her at the care home, lost but safe.
One week later there it was,
Play-chipped amongst some jumble on a stall
Its simple form as pleasing as before
The milk float from my baffling dream
I bought it, put it in a bag
In my fleece pocket where it still remains.
I take it out, I turn it in my hand
Or, when alone sit it on the dashboard of my car
Where it skites from side to side
As if driving free while all the time
Controlled by things it cannot change
Hearing this, you may call me childish or,
In kindness, childlike. I disagree, but
I often wish that it was true.

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