Poem: Close Enough

it was a springtime poetry session,

time for spring poems, so

i read the one about how you

shouldn’t tell your mother to ever fuck up

or fuck off or get fucked.

it was based on a time when she’d

bought my son an ice-cream

at 9.30 in the morning and i’d told her

to fuck off or whatever, and

she’d pulled out the grandmother card

and sent me to the sin bin.

i read it…