Independence Day
The bonnet’s a yellow explosion.
I instruct Aim for something soft.
So my son hits the daffodils not a wall.
I recall my own lessons, the feel of Dad’s hand
on my learner shoulder and sigh. Well Done.
Twice a week I grip my passenger-seat belt
and career between advice and novenas.
A price worth paying for his freedom and mine.
I wave farewell to ferrying him home from clubs,
to nights spent praying he catches the last bus.
Finally I see him outside the test centre.
He leaps from the examiner’s car
grins, rushes to mine and rips the L plates away.
I buy hanging dice for him, roses for me,
check my wall, car and heart for bumps.
Thanks to Finola for this story, the rite of passage into adulthood!
Finola Scott’s poems are widely published in anthologies and magazines including The Ofi Press,The Lake, Obsessed with Pipework and Clear Poetry. Liz Lochead was her mentor on the Clydebuilt scheme. A Slam winning granny she was thrilled to perform twice this year at the Edinburgh International Book Festival.
Celebrating Change 