Missing you, my borrowed boy.

Now I don’t have to swish your empty bath round
I miss you.
No more clucking over piles of jeans and shirts
Cast hurriedly at the end of the bed.
Clods of garden mud fallen from your boots
When you’d been told a million times,
Yes! A million times!
To take them off Boy!
Leave them under the trailer, outside.
No more bunk to make, clean under to store your bedding.
Wondering how you could be so careless with your change.
Dropped anyhow.
Twenty pences buy stuff, my lad.
Money costs!
Tempted to keep the quids, I stacked them on the kitchen top
Knowing your grin when you’d find them later.

You’re a good boy.
You’ve a good heart.
Rough handful, all the same.

Feeding you fed me and nothing,
Not anything made my heart gladder than your hug
When, belly full, you stretched and said,
It’s bed for me.
And there it was, clean again.
Ready for you.


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