After Their Boy Leaves Home

Noel King

Joe insists the lad’s Airfix Models remain hanging,

but gives away the tired out vinyl records,

the turntable going to a nephew just getting his teens.

Mary washes his left behind clothes,

doles them by

unworn to her nephews,

worn to Oxfam,

well-worn to a recycling bin.

Three underpants become dusters.

In his playhouse in the garden

he’d hidden child colours with black paint;

sat head bent under the low ceiling

plucking guitar chords.

Joe bursts the roof,

hinges it,

creosotes it,

making a fuel shed.

Mary misses most the sounds

from the mini amp. through her kitchen window.

It’s out of place in the porch, waiting

for callers to view from an ad. in the local paper.

He’ll buy a better model

when he gets ‘his feet’ in London, he says,

and promises, swears to them

he won’t busk on the Underground.

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