“Take your digger home with you,’ says Grandma.
He grabs it close. It’s what he wants to have and hold
From this day forth, forever & ever.
Grandma doesn’t need to be told.
“No,’ says his father. ’That’s too big on the bus.’
It’s a small digger, easily grasped by a toddler’s hand.
She runs beside the bus, waving to cheer him up.
Is he disconsolate? No: he grins from Daddy’s grabber arms
Which are bigger than those of any digger.
Later she’s put away the digger and the books.
She wants to use the floor polisher but the cat
Is sitting on the mat and she won’t disturb him.
So, on hands and knees, with slow tired strokes,
As though swimming, she polishes round the mat with a cloth.
The cat eyes her hand like annoying prey
But it is just a lapping ocean froth
Around a privileged island with one standing Moai.