Five children, a sixth on the way, the eldest around 7, the others barely walking.
The Dad looks like a Kevin, heavy arms bringing his shoulders down to the top of his daughterβs head, he feeds and is fed on nothing but steak, pan fried and broiled for succulent juices to run down his shirt uncoiling and picking up the pace from face to stomach, a slight overhang so his belt never sees the light.
The Mum stays quiet, a Kate or Collette, but she says nothing, just stands there carrying his sixth baby keeping it away from the narrow traffic to the side of her.
Five children, a sixth on the way, the eldest around 7, all waiting to start another academic year.
from coffeeshoppoems.com - a place for no-nonsense poetry