Bacon Butties for Breakfast

Bacon Butties for Breakfast

I creep downstairs, sneak past Mum’s room

where you have never slept. I don’t think Mums and Dads share a bed

and babies are delivered in wicker baskets by the milkman.

I ask for twelve, promise I will take care of them,

but this morning it’s just two pints and an orange juice carton.

You make my bacon sandwich to soothe the daily disappointment

whilst I spread the tomato ketchup around my mouth like an ointment

and grin at our little secret. I even help you clean up

before Mum comes down and you tell her I haven’t eaten.

I see you wink at me as she enters the kitchen.

You leave the house for work at 7.50am

to the sound of the porch door creaking open.

I never understand why you walk half a mile to the station

when the train tracks run right past our back garden.

Maybe grown ups aren’t fast enough to just jump on board.

Maybe they’re too chicken to take the leap into their imagination.

Maybe you’re the reason I turned vegetarian.

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