Point four of our child never did,
looked the other way, did the na na dancing,
sometimes called his shoes ships.
Point four of our child forgot Tuesdays,
cut the strings of other kites,
sung the hymns in Pig Latin.
Point four of our child chewed the core first,
looked out for angels, some of their shadows
whistled in his bed.
Point four of our child said that trees were spies
and that Tuesday was when he would die
but he never ever did.
David Grubb
Illustration Nick Victor