TThis is a poem dedicated to his Grandson Benjamin Sweet
IIt's a Nine One One. A poem by Michael Poyzer
The face of a cherub absorbed with his toys, At barely one, Mummy’s pride and joy, Suddenly he stops, his face looks stern, Something is stirring, this much he’s learned,
He grits his teeth and his cheeks puff out His face turns red and begins to pout Soon it’s all over and it’s back to the toys ‘Let’s get you changed, you smelly young boy.’
He lies on his mat and she pulls down his jeans Her face turns to horror, surveying the scene ‘Oh my goodness, it’s a nine one one, Somebody help me, it’s a nine one one,’
One hand lifts his ankles, like a brace of game But he’s no comprehension, and wriggles the same Scampering feet, reinforcements land One grabs his shoulders, the other his hands
Down at the sharp end the clean-up begins Soon he’s as clean as a bag of new pins Panic is over, his family disperse Fresh nappy and powdered, he looks none the worse