Tuesday, 12 February 2008


I held him close,
in the disinfectant chill of the brisk ward.
Like a china plate, close to my face.
Breathed clean smells and wet sighs.

I helped him drink,
had my finger held tightly and milky burps
blown at me from a tiny distance.
Was stared at like a stranger.

I pretended he was my son,
fussed over his flat hair as
the hugest blue eyes focussed,
but only for a second.

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