Tonight is Mum and Dad’s
wedding anniversary
and they want to go to the pub.
They don’t want to leave
me and Mick at home
but Mick promises Mum
he’ll ring her mobile if there’s a problem
and he won’t let me
burn the house down
or
flood the bathroom
or
let the chickens inside the house
but
luckily Mick doesn’t promise Mum
that we won’t climb onto the roof.
So ten minutes after they go,
we climb out the bedroom window,
Mick holding my hand tightly
like I’m just a kid.
We lean back against the chimney
and start counting the stars,
Mick calls each number out loudly,
we’re up here for hours,
‘152,153,154 . . .’
‘Mick?’
‘Yeah.’
‘What do you reckon Mum and Dad
did before we were born?’
‘Dunno. I wasn’t here. 155,156,157 . . .’
‘Mick?’
‘Yeah.’
‘How far away do you reckon the stars are?’
‘One hundred million light years . . . or more.
158,159,160 . . .’
‘Mick?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Have you ever been on a plane?’
‘Nuh.161,162,163 . . .’
‘It must be like sitting on a star.’
‘164,165,166 . . .’
‘Mick?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Have you ever been on a submarine?’
‘167, 168, 169 . . .’
‘Mick?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Can I have a go at milking Delilah?’