The Results

The Results

Here I am with one at each end of their school career

What was I thinkin’ when I decided on a wee ‘late wane.’

 

The big lassie she is ditherin’with the envelope

In her hand

The poor postman near lost his arm

You took your time, she snarled

 

And the wee lad he’s dancin’ round and round me feet

His new school tie he wears night and day

Is choking him half to death

I’m a P1 I’m a P1 he’s shouting

As he cartwheels round the space

 

Not until September

Big lassie cattily retorts

Still holding the unopened results

As if they were a sentence of death

 

Well, I’ll work hard, he airily says

Cereal dripping from his chin

I’ll not growl at the postman like our dog Ben

I will get results

And tear open the envelope as soon as it comes

 

Well, I thought she would near kill him

I silenced him with a look

Go on, love. I said gently, open your results

Drawing a deep breath the big lassie slit the flap.

 

There was stillness in the kitchen

Not a word was spoke

 

I felt the blood rush to my feet

What if…she didn’t get the grades?

She’d be broken and pained

 

Then she sat down at the table

Smiled at the wee brother and said

We’ll walk to school together

I’m getting back next year

G C Hill 2018 ©