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.