Things my mum asked for today:
To be taken home
Toast
The toilet
To be left to die

Shielded behind Met. blue
I shoulder my silver numbers:
A Papa-Lima protector
On south-east London streets.

Riding shotgun all night
Dripping with closing time doner
Adolescent adrenaline
Fueling my every move.

I scan the heavy streets
On the prowl for grateful victims, 
Burying old delinquent doubt
Beneath my cool, blue strobe.
-
A wet behind the ears
Raring juvenile constable,
Abandoned and sanctioned
To bully and to bruise,
And then perhaps to scar
For good.

You cross the uncharted floor
And on the far side of your long hope
She takes your hand.

You fall into her slow dance
And smiling, you relax, close and warm
In her knowing arms.

You follow her graceful lead
And feel the eyes of the crowd around
And you dance on.

The lump in her throat
Grew
Beyond a chew in disguise
Became a tickle too much
A frog that fought back
Packed a punch with every hack
With each and every cough attack
Her breath caught at the back.

Til it was excised
Leaving her speechless -
But not lost for words.
If you listened she still screamed
Beneath the neat white dressing
Still eloquent to those who paid attention.

Braced against the dawn
Rising above purdah mist
My solitude breaks

Lifted by morning
My lit face turns so slowly
Longing for lost hush

Stirred, shaken, summoned
My cautious foot stretches out
Into the first light

If I May, if I might
Make this wish I wish tonight
I wish I may, I wish I might
Win this clear and outright.
And if I wake to find I didn’t
May I be bold and take the hint.

What kind of father do I truely want?
What type of dad will do?
Before we continue
And go further with this
What kind of father are you?

Will you save me from scrapes?
Hold tight to my hand
When I clearly want to walk free?
Will you wrap me in cotton
And keep hold of the reins
Or can I risk grazing my knees?

Will you keep me a child
Restricting my choice
Prevent me from breaking the rules?
Or give me the room
To make some mistakes
And maybe suffer a bruise?

Are you one of those fathers
Who is slow to excuse
My foolish brash acts of rebellion?
Or are you quick to forgive
Running arms open wide
Hitching your coat with abandon?

From what I hear from my friends
You really could be
The kind of father I need.
I'd like to see for myself
What it's like to be loved
And be lifted up from my knees.