Here we are, two years on

And still I hate the school play

In crammed airless hall

Two hours of my life stolen

only this time it’s worse…

I’ve grabbed the last two seats in the house,

embroiled myself in chit chat with a neighbour

before the waft of urine hits my senses

and I thought her husband switched places

to ease our conversation…

My 15yr old bemoans her fate,

her teenage scowl intensified

I cast my eyes around to find the source of our discomfort,

the old woman two to the left ahead looks clean enough

but sits on who knows what,

the active infant one in front

whose skirt rides up inauspiciously

I wonder how many people smell this stench

and look at me…

Then I wonder if it is me

Could I inadvertently

have worn the same knickers

three weeks running

then forgotten to shower?

We’re sat on plastic infant chairs

pre pissed on chairs perhaps

I squirm in my seat but the lights go down

and with them our last chance of escape.

 

She’s come a long way in 2 years

A tree in Bugsy Malone to young Nahla in the Lion King

the same maternal focus, the same smile

but now she speaks, dances, owns the stage

her low and pleasant voice

a joy to hear

like me, but not…

so quietly confident

outside of the in crowd,

not one to run with the pack

or stand alone

but happy in her own skin

be it bark, be it hide

 

I’ve remembered my camera this time,

say ‘look at me, aren’t I a good mother?’

as I click away at other parents heads

and fleeting streaks of her…

‘And can you feel the love tonight?’

Well yes, as a matter of fact I can!

 

The Nahla cub matures all too soon

and off she dances.

I must endure animal odour

for a further hour

without essence of daughter to relieve

but I do manage to see the funny side

each time I glance at the female Kevin sat beside me

Hakuna Matata  ? *

not ruddy likely…

 

 

 

 

* Swahili for No Worries