The incalculable tristesse of a Peppa Pig mouse

Parenthood

After Theodore Roethke

 

I have known the inexorable sadness of children's shoes,

squat in their boxes, scuffed after five minutes' wearing,

the incalculable tristesse of Thomas the Tank Engine slippers,

DayGlo blue nylon with immutable plastic badges,

and the cost of all this which is sleeplessness, vomit and Dettox spray,

rage of shoelace tying,

bottom wiping, yoghurt scraping, Ribena mopping,

as you try, one hand glued to your hair, your mouth burning

with sores, to speak politely on the telephone

to the woman who is buying your house,

the doctor who says don't bend, the friend who is just back from Prague

your mother who begins, 'Well, in my day...

And I have seen dust collect under their beds, there is nothing

I can do to prevent it, visions of gin, gallons of it, before breakfast,

incomprehensible gobbledegook of Tommee Tippee instructions,

Tixylix, dawn-light of Calpol, poignancy of vests in their packets,

blockage of buggies in swing doors

and heartbreak of stories by the fire,

Granpa, Peepo!, Peace at Last, the firelight wavering

and breathing slowing to a pulse

that overcomes you with drowsiness,

the furies of your life ebbing as the story, here, now, unfurls,

grows, is fixed, not a word omitted or changed,

by stories are we known and do tell ourselves, daddy,

I'm tired now please, carry me, you forgot vitamins, to bed.

 

Anthony Wilson

 

 

 

 

Done