You've got attachment issues, kid,

and I can't take this hat off my head:

we're beginning to make eye contact.

 

Seven pairs of shoes you've worn today;

I'm breaking out of The First Aid Box

into the parallel play area.

 

Your hair stands up on the trampoline

like Harpo Marx in the kitchen clock;

I wonder if we're catching you in time.

 

Let's see how high these bricks will stack

then knock them down and start again

with emotional ambivalence.

 

I'm captured in a double bind

by the way she zips that buggy along

and your horizontal demeanour.

 

She sing-song soothes and modulates;

I'm a stickler for authenticity:

there's a method in my sadness.

 

We've stuck you in to family snaps

to attract a special mum and dad;

it's a mercenary transfer market.

 

These little pigs and billy-goats

will fall asleep for a hundred years;

I'm trying to keep the wolf from the door.

 

What shall we say? Thank you very much !

The chances are we won't stay in touch -

I'll just be a name in your memory box.