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When I see a parent scowl

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

in solidarity.

 

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