watching the News Year’s Concert from Vienna on my own.
Minecraft blocks in bland primaries fill their screens.
Pressure cooks; I shout and shout.
‘One more minute, please, Mum!’
At least they still say please.
Books he once loved
scatter in abandon on the floor or foisted
upon unwilling younger brother.
He still knows the name of every dinosaur ever excavated,
corrects my eras when I stutter.
If only his detailed lists extended to homework,
his attention to detail had bearing on his missing objects.
A few more months
to snuggle my nose against his smooth cheeks
and breathe in sulky childishness
before the razor bites.