My son is reading a Paw Patrol book,
his Rudolph hood resting on his back
ready for the night of his life.
George Michael has just stopped
singing. A news story on the radio is
explaining how a woman fainted
while driving along an A-road this week.
After failing to wake her from the passenger seat
her 12-year-old son took her foot
off the accelerator and slowly turned
the steering wheel to guide them to safety.
My son’s ears stand taller than an elf’s
and says, “You don’t know how to drive.”
I tell him that’s true.
“And neither do I,” he warns.

Carl Burkitt 2025