Result
Everything led here.
Phonetic years of chanting tables,
cello practice, French exchange,
after-school activities, the cause
of civil war. All leading
to this moment.
Everyone has come.
Anxious parents, singles, doubles,
several grannies in stilettoes,
and, carefully clad in nonchalance,
the retiring upper sixth. All here
for the last school run.
Everybody’s crying,
shrieking, four straight As or
left ungraded, hugging friends
and hugging good old hovering
Mum and Dad. All but one.
I stand apart.
Every other family’s
revving up in celebration – or
off to test the clearing pool of
readjusted sights? I don’t know.
I’ll see you in the hall at
half past ten.
Surely every screeching
tyre is her? At last! Sorry,
Mum, we overlaid. You know
what sleepovers are like.
We rocket to the empty hall
for revelation.
Every envelope
has gone but one. She opens it.
I wait to hold her close
instead of holding back.
An out-of-nowhere youth
steps in to fill the gap.
Every clasping
heavy-handed hands-on
hands-all-over hot caress
gives out more information
than I ever thought
I’d ever want to know.
Says it all.