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Teenage Son

His body has outgrown him momentarily

awkward long limbs

fill every inch of spare space

in the room he occupies.

Once a bedroom,

now a bolthole

to escape,


from the adult world he longs to embrace.

He eats his body weight in cereal

and thinks nothing of polishing off two dinners

in one sitting.

He has man’s jaw and the eyes of a child

His voice is deep but his silence deafening.

Now taller than me, with broad shoulders

and strong arms. He lifts me easily

from the ground - just for fun.

Like I once did him – spinning us both

round and round

until we are both dizzy.

He likes to call me ‘Mutherrrr’ –

in exaggerated fashion.

And hugs are dished out with jovial

and dramatic enthusiasm.

It’s a façade we play out – making a ‘comedy’ of love.

A daily fix of drama, worthy of Shakespeare,

performed expertly to hide the embarrassment

of seeking comfort and needing love.

He has yet to realise - that love is a natural

human condition and it’s omission

destroys the soul.

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