There’s a Thomas on my chair,
I can’t imagine why he’s there,
I was just about to sit down at my desk.
But I can’t sit, I’m afraid,
My temper’s feeling rather frayed,
You see it really is a rather frightful mess.
There’s a hammer on my notebook,
Pipe cleaners wrapped around my pens,
And I do believe that’s glitter on my phone.
Tiny cars surround my laptop,
Keyboard crumbs, they’re looking up at,
I put my head into my hands and start to groan.
Then I hear from the next room,
A little noise that sounds like ‘moom’,
And I peek around the corner to learn more.
It’s the owner of the cars,
Dreaming of the stars on thars,
And the party that we’ve planned when he turns four.
A little smile turns up my frown,
As I place Thomas on the ground,
Swipe a path through all the cars,
With the biscuit crumbs on thars,
And settle down so I can type this little poem.
I wrote this poem while I was procrastinating about writing the eulogy for my grandfather’s funeral, which is today.
As it happens, the poem is a fairly accurate reflection of his own chaotically, yet happily, child-filled life with my Nan. I’ve included it in the eulogy.
Pop, this poem’s for you. May you rest in peace with Nan xx.