All the dads are in the cafe;
weekend smiles, weekday eyes.
A lot’s changed in seven days,
the rocket ship in yellow leggings
doesn’t like tiffin any more.
She prefers a chocolate cornflake cake
smashed into a billion pieces.
She’s learned how to drink
through a straw, say the word window,
put her hands in the air, how to stand
up on the table. The planet she’s from
is trying to keep up, roll with the punches,
allow his bones to sit in a chair
that isn’t in front of a desk.
© Carl Burkitt 2022