“They’re here!” the headlines shout.
And we are too, me with my kids.
So what’s all this fuss about?
I look at them, they’re just like us,
Except perhaps for headscarves.
They’ve got no car, they came by bus.
Their kids sit in the shopping trollies,
Small brown hands restrained from
Reaching out and grabbing lollies.
Mine are staring curiously.
Then they jump around and start
To tug my jacket furiously.
“Speak up! What did you say?”
The weekend crowd is noisy.
“You want to ask if they can play?”
We mothers hesitate then smile.
Surely it can’t do any harm
To let them down for just a while.
Round and around the mall they run;
We grown-ups stand and watch
Our happy children having fun.
A whistle blows. Their kids stand still.
I’m shocked to see them change to
Tiny men who know the drill.
Mothers gather up their little broods,
And from the trollies take
Their plastic bags of Australian foods.
I watch them as they join together
Murmuring in some foreign tongue
As they softly greet each other.
Then they meekly go their ordered way,
Obedient to the last, which makes me
Want to shout “Don’t go! Please stay!”
Min, 25/10/10, Brilliant and heart felt Patricia. I think that the last phrases state how most feel, if they would allow themselves to feel.
I’m not going to say a congratulationsm Patricia, because this poem is worth so much more; it’s worth study.