George crept into her corner of the room,
Leant over her to dunk his fresher blooms,
His shadow passing over her enough
To wake her. In a voice painfully gruff,
She asked him without opening her eyes
To tell her something she'd find a surprise,
That she would not suspect he'd ever done,
Would fail to recognise in her own son.
George wriggled 'round the worn, escaping springs,
His stare at flowers, his thoughts of secret flings.
A silence rattled through the nylon drape
But as his gaze fell to her let escape
That Sandy, whom he spoke of at such length
Had given him some years ago new strength;
Despite attempts, suppression hadn't worked
And how, alone, away at night, he'd hurt.
She nodded slightly, slowly turned her head
To whisper that she'd known but never said.
George stared again. The flowers weren't very good:
He never did things when he knew he should
But bought them from a layby on the way.
He breathed again and wondered what to say.
"Mum, have you ever been depressed," got free
As George recalled his waste of a degree.
A hint of sad surrender crossed her eyes,
Then disapproval, shame but no surprise:
"So tell me something terrible," she sighed,
Directing him in closer to her side.
He did so, feeling useless, wondering what
Would be least hurtful from the choice he'd got.
"Well, have I ever mentioned Luw at all?
He's sort of someone I have liked since school
But never really got to know as well
As I had wished to. Mum, I had to tell
Somebody - I chose Sandy, not you Mum.
I'm sorry Mum, I couldn't tell you.
Mum?"