Special Guests

Chewing through one afternoon
a box of toffees
to win the science project,
we covered the cracks on his bike helmet
with toffee wrappers
shiny enough to be seen from outer space.

I drift out, away,
away from those I cannot keep,
and lose the weight
of losing him,
the hands that cannot stick,
the sticky foods I mustn’t eat,
and go to where the sound of Earth’s a hum.

And I don’t care about anything
beyond the taste of toffees
when I’m nine years old,
imagining space, with Dad.