One day a boy gets picked up
by his granny
gets home and drops his bag in the middle of his room.
Sits on his bed, kicks off his shoes, grabs his phone,
lies down on his bed – falls asleep,
cause his house is really warm.
On the floor he dumps all of his work,
the smell of old pages,
flicking from a book in the class.
The fog and through it
the little sheep,
the tweeting of all the birds in the trees round his house.
Finally the boy puts down his controller,
and worries he doesn’t want Hunter’s chicken for tea.
He thinks about mince and tatties.
By John
