Warm Enough

The question I ask myself the most is what temperature is my son

On the days we bake along the coast

I stare up at the sun 

As it bears down on us 

His cheeks pink, I think

What temperature is my son? 

Perhaps he needs a hat. 

The question I ask myself the most is what temperature is my son 

The rains start to pool while we walk to school 

I say son I think we should run 

As he dashes ahead - with his wet hair and his legs bare, 

I think what temperature is my son? 

The question I ask myself the most is what temperature is my son. 

In the morning I dress my son 

Mourning another mother’s son 

We cast our eyes to darkened skies 

to a storm that’s only just begun. 

And I think what temperature is my son? 

The question I ask myself the most is what temperature is my son.

In the spring we flee to parks and pools 

I watch him learn to float, then we head outside 

where vines of jasmine climb 

and wrap round his mother’s throat. 

And I think what temperature is my son?

The question I ask myself the most is what temperature is my son

We stroll beneath the bright sunshine

I tell him it will all be fine

As long as he tows the line, 

And speaks a language so benign 

to never give a warning sign  

I take his doughy hand in mine

A little boy with trees to climb 

And I say son, are you warm enough?