Written by Joel Glover
I’m muttering angrily
At a spreadsheet that refuses to cooperate
When he pops his head around the door.
Big blue eyes, hair so thick it refuses a comb.
“I love you so much,” I tell him,
“You’re so handsome.”
“And charming and clever,” I add.
Then,
Because I can never have a heartfelt moment without making a joke,
“You must take after me.”
And I think back
To my school days:
To being told “I really fancy you,” by the sniggering blonde twin,
And how I didn’t need her to tell me it was on a dare, how the laughter was enough;
To my T-shirt riding up as I shucked off my uniform jumper
And hearing “you have a nice back…shame about the front” from the girls behind me;
The feeling of nails sinking into the back of my hand
Skin rolling up like pencil shavings;
Of the tug of the nylon rope around my throat as I was kicked in the stomach.
Things I will never tell him.
He looks at me solemnly.
“Correction!”
He wags his finger in front of my nose.
“I take after grandpa.”
.
Former waiter in a Love Boat themed restaurant, reformed mandarin, and extroverted accountant, Joel Glover lives in the woods of Hertfordshire with two boys, one wife, and not nearly enough coffee. His poetry has appeared in oddball magazine, Little Old Lady Comedy, Radon Journal and Pulp Lit Mag, and he has work forthcoming in The Limerick in Chains and 5-7-5 Journal. He would love for you to read any of his other work, which ranges from cultural commentary to grimdark novels and seek him out on Twitter @booksafterbed to find out more.