Looking After You
 
The stabilisers are squeaking and your head is still   
too tiny for your helmet. We’re taking aim  
at August and the cycle turns as clockwork  
as a comet. Your new parents have got previous  
experience of death, disease and sickness;
but they don’t have dogs, frogs in a pond  
or slow-worms on the top of the compost.
 
I’m looking after you – to when I’m stationed  
at the wrong end of a spyglass, when the shed  
is cleared of a pink car and red scooters,  
and Cinderella hasn’t left behind her slippers;  
when the time strikes for writing rhyme and rhythm  
without dwelling on the dreams of foster children;
to when I stare at so much empty space and wonder  
if I can stomach watching Rastamouse alone.

Raymond Miller

If you have any thoughts on this poem,  Raymond Miller  would be pleased to hear them.