Under Grandad’s chair

There lives a host of special toys.

Bottle tops, lost spoons and Teagasc papers

On grass and feed and growing beef from your seat.

Under Grandad’s chair

Far back where my little hand can reach

Lives ‘gurl’ and rag time ‘ra ra’

Far back where they slid underneath.

Under Grandad’s chair lives

‘Cah’ that goes ‘beep’

Far back where it crashed below the ‘seet’.

Under Grandad’s chair lives dust

And ‘do do’* , ‘do do’, ‘do do’

Far back where I can’t …

Far back where I can’t stretch .

One more week and maybe I can reach…

*soother

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Doula

Hickory, dickory, dock,

We  work around the clock.

Play and wash and prep and feed and change and play and nap and feed.

 

Toilet rush before the bough breaks.

A  baby  in a new mother’s lap

with growing arms reaching for the roll and now the  taps –

Humpty Dumpty had a great fall,

Soon we all might crack.

 

The clock strikes one

and She arrives.

She soothes and smiles.

She coos and plays and gurgles.

 

I step and step and step until the body miles stack up.

Hickory, dickory, dock, the mouse wound down the clock.

Thoughts still before a time bomb bursts.

 

Hickory, dickory, dock.

She soothes, she calms and our doula leaves.

We begin again.