So, you are saying, when your son is sleeping
his legs bunch up by his sides like those on a roast chicken,
and when you hold him to your cheek
the hairs on his head prickle like a kiwi fruit.
Furthermore, his breath has a hint of buttercream,
and his chin is always dripping wet
as if glazed in a coat of honey.
“That’s correct. I would also like to add
that his little toes have even begun
to smell of camembert cheese”.
And these are the reasons you felt compelled
to tell him that you could eat him up?
“Yes, I’m afraid so”. And when you carried him
to the kitchen, did the boy cry out?
“Yes, Your Honour, he did. Tenderly
like a spring lamb”.
Niall M Oliver lives in Ireland, and is the author of ‘My Boss’ by Hedgehog Poetry. His poems have featured in The Honest Ulsterman, Fly On The Wall Press, Ink Sweat & Tears, Black Bough Poetry and others.