My baby brother’s crying. What if he just won’t stop?
My mother’s running all around, clutching at a mop.
‘Get up on the sofa!’ Tears fill up the room.
Father’s soaking up the flood … with a towel and broom.
Then baby’s gliding past upon a silver tray.
‘Quick, your little brother. Before he floats away!’
We wade into the kitchen and open up the door,
are swept into the garden as tears begin to pour.
Soon the garden disappears. We climb into a tree.
My father’s on his mobile. He’s dialling help for me.
A police boat rounds the corner, passes by our slide,
in it sits three gentlemen. ‘The Prime Minister’s inside!’
‘Now, look here little baby, these tears have got to end!’
My brother just cries louder, their boat swept round the bend.
Mother wrings her hands while father rings the Queen.
She’s winched down from a copter. She has a jellybean.
‘Now look here little baby, I have a treat for you.’
My brother pauses, takes a breath, considers what to do.
A jellybean, sweet shiny red, sits in the royal hand.
My baby brother smiles and there’s applause throughout the land.
Now, each year, come jellybeans, flown across the sea.
‘With fond regards, I send this gift.’
Signed Her Majesty!