MY SON THINKS I’M GAY
Walking back across the fields he said
Never mind India. There wasn’t a pause.
His brain processed the vernacular
of youth. I was born with the face
of a melted wellington. My son, as we know,
leaves me bewildered and alienated.
He thinks they’re being held back
by the licence fee. If I were dead
there’d be peace in the bin.
It’s bad enough for my mum. We took her
to a pantomime in Klingon. She can’t
understand her grandchildren
with their big twenty-first-century thumbs.
It’s going to be worse when the world is their oyster.
from In The World: The Clarkson Poems