Boy

I liked being small. When I’m on my own
I’m small. I put my pyjamas on
and hum to myself. I like doing that.

What I don’t like is being large, you know,
grown-up. Just like that. Whoosh. Hairy.
I think of myself as a boy. Safe slippers.

The world is terror. Small you can go As I
lay down my head to sleep, I pray … I remember
my three wishes sucked up a chimney of flame.

I can do it though. There was an older woman
who gave me a bath. She was joking, of course,
But I wasn’t. I said Mummy to her. Off-guard.

Now it’s a question of getting the wording right
For the Lonely Hearts verse. There must be someone
out there who’s kind to boys. Even if they grew.

- Carol Ann Duffy