Swinging upwards,

scathingly steering myself towards salvation.

School Run: teacher testimonials and tallies.

An “Other,”

an outcast from tradition.

Rousing the reluctant offspring,

combative to my requests.

We breakfast briefly,

on little balls of sugary synthetic yellowness

We arrive at school,

greet the countless glamorous goddesses

oozing out of the orifices

of Surrey’s streets and semis.

We are messy, muddled and moody,

unready for the morning.

Hanging your coat on the peg,

nodding to the bitches.

Wondering if we might be reviewed,

later at their coffee morning.

The teacher talks tentatively,

testing to see if I am frantic

I mollify her,

maintaining an air of equanimity.

And Run,

remembering I’ll have to repeat tomorrow.