Eleven
Students of mine turning eleven
Takes me back to that time in my life
I remember the cake
Mum made two ones and
I stood behind them
Proud to have reached such an age
It was a good cake
But when Darren turned ten
His mum made a football pitch
Of deliciousness covered in
Green buttercream icing
He would call for me
Is Monny coming out?
Not John, gift of God
But Monny
How did my mother feel answering the door?
She who named me John
Gift of God
Reduced to this abstract abbreviation
I imagine she dreamt of stabbing
Him with his mum’s buttercream
Icing knife
But probably not
She was always too nice
Thoughts
There is a picture of me standing in front of the cake but I cannot find it. So instead, here is me in Edinburgh having a coffee.
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