HELLS BELLS

HELL’S BELLS

Perched precariously on my lap
she studies the wreckage of my Bells stricken face.

She notes with some surprise
the difference in eyes:
the relative size and refusal to wink
at her request of the lazy left-hand lid.

[such rumination
for such a harum-scarum child]

Her fingers glide down the land-slipped cheek
and trace the leftward downward slump
of lips which only smile on one side.

[Feather-light
for such a firecracker child]

Serious faced she tuts and sighs
and explains [as if I’m a simple child]
That I cannot accompany her and Nana
To the busy bustling Mall.
“Your face is too poorly!”
she announces in such sorry tones
How sweet!

[such sympathy
at her self-centred age]

She adds, by way of explanation,
“And they’ll all be laughing at you”

[typically terse and true
for such an anchored honest child]