A weekday morning starts 

with birdsong in my ears 

a rush that I can’t even identify

wattle bird magpie and who is that other one? 

the warmth of the sun through my eyelids brings a grateful smile to my face

the gratitude is new as the day

not like those mornings when you were younger 

aching, ripped from the depths of sleep

your cheerful little face 

your enthusiasm to see me

jumping all over me

kissing me for too long with your slobbery lips

the nostalgia makes my nose tingle and my throat contract

                                                                                    I languorously

fall back to sleep, awaiting the deadline

then chuck on my uggies and walk down the hall 

with just a jumper to keep me warm on top of 

my nightie to enjoy slinking across my thighs 

in the kitchen the oven buzzes that she is warm enough

the rolling pin heads towards the edge 

threatening departure 

I anticipate the clang but he just teeters

                                                      because I’m just not great in the mornings

there’s a sauce I made a few weeks ago 

and plenty of grated cheese in the freezer 

                                                      because I’m organised

making mini pizzas because I love you 

even though it’s not allowed to kiss your face in public

this lunch will fill my love for you from the insides

while you traverse the concrete

and black spike tipped fence

and the harsh toxic standards 

that you are supposed to meet