Our Kids

Our Kids by Neil McCall

your kid dined on goujons
our kid munched fish fingers
your kid had a nursery
our kid, an attic bunk bed.

your kid had a tutor
our kid went to homework club
your kid's school was fee-paying
our kid paid for brownies.

your kid got straight As
our kid, a gamut of grades
on a wing and a prayer
and some bloody hard work.

your kid breezed into Uni
as if claiming a birthright
our kid snuck in fearfully
as if scanning for bouncers.

your kid punted on the Cam
and flounced across shaded Sunday lawns
our kid missed Monday morning lectures
having worked on the checkout all weekend.

then your kid gave her nose
as Charlie's highway
our kid got a nostril stud
and a pierced navel.

sorry to hear your kid's in rehab;
our kid, thank God, is still in the pub.