This poem was published in the new writer issue 84, May/June 2007.

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Afterbirth

People talk of mind over matter
but my mind sloped off
soon after the birth
so that every day feels
like I’m standing at the top
of a giant water coaster,
my son cuddled in my arms.
Noisy children squash
impatiently behind us,
the only way we can go:
forwards, loose on the water,
downwards, out of control,
and in the raft
the most precious thing in the world,
and I’ve got to stop it breaking.