I’m jinking a knife between the studs of a boot
I tell myself there’s pleasure in patience rewarded,
the slow reveal, a job complete.
My son has not yet learned this;
too young to wait, he leaves the dirty work to me.
When I look up I see my mother holding boots.
She smiles and winks,
nodding down to the ground,
where, spread before her,
is every shoe I ever wore,
polished, dubbed and gleaming.
(This poem was shortlisted in the 2014 Wells Literature Festival Poetry Prize).
This poems appears in ‘Codes of Conduct’ my pamphlet available from Cinnamon Press