Life Hands Us Gold and We Look At the Road

Life hands us gold and we look at the road A few days away and we share every minute, Three single beds, Like story book orphans, Which you bounce across in games of convoluted chase, Involving code words and eyes closed, Falls and injury, While I try to read the paper. Eventually you sleep, Snuffling like baby seals in the darkness, As Glasgow’s sad traffic passes slowly beneath And I worry about parking. At waking you proudly make weak coffee, After exhaustive instruction on kettles and water, And help opening the milk and sachets. At breakfast you hoard bacon and try to steal the spoons, In the car you invent unending stories of small girls in danger, That never quite end in disaster, And fight about the radio, While I struggle through the traffic And try to keep my temper. On the plane you get grumpy and I get desperate. Now you are back home, My heart and room are empty. The gold floats beyond my reach, Intangible and fading, Like fireflies at the end of Summer. Life hands us gold, and we look at the road.