When I see a parent
scowl in my direction
I ask myself a simple set
of essential questions:
do they have Weetabix up their nose
or porridge in their ear?
do they have their bra on inside out
or some Lego shrapnel up their rear?
have they failed at ‘Dry January’
or are desperate for a cig?
are they fed up to the back teeth
of being called mummy pig?
Is their baby teething?
howling through the night?
do they have an uneasy feeling
that bath time will be a fight?
are they so exhausted
they could weep an ocean?
is their only specialist subject
The morals in fucking ‘Frozen’?
Did they have cold fish fingers
and Gin for their dinner?
and despite skipping breakfast
they’re not getting any thinner.
has their toddler started hitting
just to get their attention?
is the weather mostly spitting
and they’ve not had sex since the conception?
and I decide yes – that’s the reason
they’re scowling at me,
and I scowl right back