Her school summer holiday is all hot
chocolate and prawn sandwiches
in a cafe usually filled with work laptops.
He shrimp-pink t-shirt is tickled with mud
and time with a mum capturing moments
with her eyes. I’m earwigging, hearing words
like ‘bug hotel’ and ‘taking stabilisers off’.
The coffee machine spits out steam
like a train travelling back in time.
The punch of noise silences my nosiness
and I lip read ‘pogs’, ‘yo-yos’, ‘pogo sticks’.
The coffee machine pulls into the station,
mum and daughter stuff sun cream
into backpacks, wipe butter off cheeks
and evaporate into possibility.

Carl Burkitt 2024