Saturday, 12 May 2012


The green album lay tucked
In the chest of drawers under
Some knitting patterns and
A seed catalogue;
She picked it up and
Opened the first page;
A stamp fluttered out
And landed face down
On the carpet by her shoe
Stooping she scooped up
The little rectangle with
The grey paper hinge still
Attached ~ butterfly she
Remembered, she had
Bought him packets of
Butterfly brand hinges;
A tear rolled down her
Wrinkled cheek as the
Memories of her son
Flooded back ~ the
Concentration as he
Arranged his collection
Into themes and categories
And his delight when she
Bought him a new batch from
The shop in town ~ no internet
In those days of course;
Sighing she turned the stamp
Over and looked at the front;
A picture of Concorde against
A green sky; he had been so
Excited when the plane had
Flown past his school ~ all
Gone now, the planes scrapped
The school closed and her son
Well he was still alive but
Trapped in his autistic
Half life still trying to
Please her with his
Polite helpfulness
Childlike at fifty;
She noticed that the
Stamp was unused and
Without hesitating licked
The back and stuck it into
The album upside down
And smiled to herself

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