Nine months

Standard

The wrong red poster, too much sugar in the drink
The white disc smashed
Its pieces ring and shiver, still
The yellow teat of a half-squeezed lemon
The hubbub of people speaking
Subdued rather than expressive:
“Were you going to order food?”

I present to you my son these possessions
The taste of chocolate, cooled
A sweater frayed from Matalan
One black hat in need of a wash
The knowledge of London in the cold

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