Camphill School Breakfast Poem by GRANT FRASER

You get up at six
to feed the kids...

while I flake out again,
the Holsten beer can yellowish,
in the first light,

you plant a de-caff by the bedside,
and put on your underwear in front
of the door, the soft plump fruit
dangles from your fleshly branches,

with one eye I watch you
all the way...

beautiful curves and so much
shadow-play,

morning grows stronger,
along the curtain edge,

my head is a little bit sore...
a mixture of sorts - last night
I guess?

James my son walks through the door
dozy in the half dark,

and crawls in beside me,

whilst you grab something from the table,
in a puff of movement, gone,

and turn the snib...