SUNDAY“

“What would you like for breakfast?’
Inquires the precious little voice.
“Bacon, eggs and coffee?
Or maybe just some toast?”

“What time is it? I mumble....
“Where’s the wee hand on the dial?”
“On the nine or ten I think.”
I turn and see him smile.

Oh well, there goes my Sunday lie-in
And it’s only half past seven.
S’pose I didn’t need the extra sleep
Nor the comfy dreamland haven.

We’d been playing ‘shops’ the night before
His ‘stock’ lay on the counter
The things he’d sold me twice already,
Displayed again, ready to barter.

“By the way.... these things will stay,
So that I can sell you some more later?.”
“Sure sweetheart but just for now,
Our stomachs we should cater.”

Breakfast over and dishes done,
We drive to pick up the Sunday news
He always finds a little extra thing
Which he knows I won’t refuse.

Back home we resume with the trading
Till I ‘run out’ of money again.
I’m hoping the game is over
Since poverty I now feign.

“Let’s check out the garden" he says,
"The rain has stopped you know!”
“O.K., you get on your wellies.....
Ouch!! I just stubbed my toe!”

Just then we hear a car drive up.
It’s his father I am wishing....
Yes! he’s come to take him down
To the beach to do some fishing.

I go to the door to wave goodbye
And as they head off down the street
Right now my only mission is...
To relax and put up my feet

J.M. Furner

Created 21 May 2000