Children are natural poets. The title is straight from my elder boy’s mouth; the inspiration from every unselfish minute he gives me.
For Herb.
Maudlin Dawdlin’ Shoes by Abu
Dawdling Shoes (2008)
Dawdling shoes,
Scuffed on the kerb,
Bag
Dragged,
Tufted-duck hair,
Sleepy-dust lingers
In sweet almond eyes,
‘I am mole …’
All the way there
Here we go again
Dilly-a-dallying,
Daily
The flustering
Mingde Rd. detour,
Seaweed and apple
Slices forgotten
‘Orange?’
‘Grape?’
‘Again?’
‘Yeah’
Dawdling shoes,
These not those,
Velcro strapped,
This way, not that,
Off with the twisted
Dog helmet strap,
Scampering off,
Across muddy grass
Leave me at the gate,
Shoes, shoes,
Always late,
Shoes, shoes
‘Dilly-a-dallying’ … yes quite so. Absolutely. ‘These not those’ … ‘This way not that’ … ‘Trousers on back to front’ … YES! YES! Many times.
Inane blatherings. Clearly half-cut on some Beijing park bench.
Oh no no no. I thought you’d recall greeting Michelle and I with your trousers on back to front. Hoowwwl! I thought my addition fit quite well into Herbie’s delightful creation.
Oh my, when did you move into my house?
Haha. Used to drive me mental Toinette. Thought Herb was bad but Felix even worse! The let’s race each other/skip to school ruse worked for a while but he got wise.
Still, shouldn’t grumble: I’d rather have them here dawdling. They’re back in the UK with mum until New Year … sniff …