M In the time between when he dropped it
E and when the sticky, sickly sweet and sour
L pineapple flavour and overly-yellow coloured
T ice had melted into the hot sand
I we had already packed up our towels
N and sun cream and empty cool-box
G and taken a deep breath of the stifling air,
M ready for the battle of gathering up
E a child who cannot understand
L that something can be gone,
T like my patience as the red faces
E scowl and judge the woman with
D the screaming, crying child,
G the faces who have forgotten
O that accepting things have gone without
N a fight is not something we are born with
E or should want.
E and when the sticky, sickly sweet and sour
L pineapple flavour and overly-yellow coloured
T ice had melted into the hot sand
I we had already packed up our towels
N and sun cream and empty cool-box
G and taken a deep breath of the stifling air,
M ready for the battle of gathering up
E a child who cannot understand
L that something can be gone,
T like my patience as the red faces
E scowl and judge the woman with
D the screaming, crying child,
G the faces who have forgotten
O that accepting things have gone without
N a fight is not something we are born with
E or should want.
Bethan Hay (she/her) lives an island life in Orkney. She writes around her young children and work as a Home Carer. You can find her, and details of her publications, on Twitter @bethanhay_.