they call you
Strange, little boy.
in legoland you broke down
like our little tin car
kicking crying
words failing
so:
they had to pull us out.
tell me why?
flashing lights smiling dolls crowding people
dark room
voices like screams
battering rams pounding pounding
unstrange children love theme parks.
a woman said
he’s not coping take him out
like it was our fault,
I whisper
they don’t know.
they call you
Sick, darling boy.
a chronic disease
pathogen deep
blood
mind
there is no cure.
you get
symptoms
medical reports
therapy
check-ups for
government funding
it’s all inside, it makes you
shriek at
rough fibres of new clothes
spiders on skin.
they call you
Slow, dearest boy.
you cannot
paint or do maths
like they say your kind can
but:
you read
a hundred books
name a thousand things
planets
jupiter
saturn
uranus
neptune
satisfied in your universe.
no eye contact
attention
speech
lying on belly
rustling pages
so calm but
are you happy?
they call you
Disabled
Difficult
Different
Special.
Alone you
Sit on the playroom mat, my
Dear.
they think you
so so so so
Strange