Poetry Magazines - The best collection of poetry magazines online - Simon Armitage

‘Close your mouth,’ say the adults, ‘you’re getting soup all
   over your shirt!’
They wipe my lips in a greasy towel and mutter:
other kids your age eat on their own,
they clean themselves and know to say ‘thank you’,
with other kids your age one can tell who takes after whom.

Feed me, adults,
you who eat with such agility and much.
When I grow up, I will study law and accounting,
I will play the violin, chess and tennis – whatever will make
   you happy,
just do not raise your voices.

‘Close your mouth,’ say the adults, ‘and listen up:
when you cross that second bridge, toss in the wreath,
then serve the meat pies, give schnapps to the adults,
   lemonade to kids.
Then you will go through a gate and balloons will be
   released.
Don’t run ahead of everyone, smile!’

Feed me, adults, you who know more about those bridges.
Aunts and uncles from both sides,
colleagues, friends and classmates,
all will have a chance to come up with good wishes.
It will take long, happy years to make them all come true.

‘Close your mouth,’ say the adults,
‘lie down, let’s take your blood pressure.
If you get close to the stove one more time,
if you try to fry something there one more time,
we’ll send you elsewhere and you’ll be fed by strangers!’

Feed me, adults, I no longer remember your names,
yet I recognize every feature in your cross faces.
For many long years I listened and learned,
there is much I could tell you now,
yet the spoons keep getting in the way –

interrupted mid-word, I swallow it all unsaid,
with my mouth half-open, my mouth full of wonders.