The little boy is staring at the clouds
His body warm against the stony granite
He wants to beg his parents for a puppy
But dad would never let it in his car
And mummy’s often told him that her keepsakes
And collectibles would always be in danger.
If they brought in a dog. There’s not much danger
He knows, of them relenting, so he clouds
Over. Blank and glazed as any keepsake
On mummy’s shelf, his eyes as hard as granite.
Dad shouts. It’s time to go back to the car.
He sets his jaw. Don’t think about the puppy.
He’d love to ask them: can we get a puppy?
And then hear, not a lecture on the danger
Of what could happen to the precious car,
But shared enthusiasm. Now the clouds
Are darkening. “don’t dawdle!” Hard as granite,
He sullenly straps in but his heart keeps ach-
Ing. Mummy has bought another keepsake
From the little shop. A small ceramic puppy.
He stares at it and then the mask of granite
Starts to crumble, and he knows he is in danger
Of crying, so he stares out at the clouds,
And watches as the trees rush past the car.
His dad’s so proud and happy with his car.
Like mummy with her pretty little keepsakes
It gives him so much pleasure. Hot breath clouds
The window in the back. A little puppy
He couldn’t mind. There’d not be any danger.
But no. He knows his dad’s last word is granite.
He looks back at the shrinking cliffs of granite
Out of the window of the gleaming car
Seatbelted and protected from all danger
All neat and tidy, mummy’s little keepsake.
Out on the cliffs, a boy plays with a puppy
As dad drives on, beneath the looming clouds.
No danger in a life as dull as granite:
But sadness clouds his face, as in the car,
He grips mum’s keepsake: cold, ceramic puppy.
Tom Juniper Poetry 