Ode to Autism

‘Just a single.’ I raise a finger

and a waitress nods and leads me to a single

chair at a single table, deep inside

a City eater.

It’s several days

since I saw my son.

He’s a ‘single’;

spending big phases

alone.

The thought’s like a shudder

carried over water

to another shore

 

but in dodgems, where bumpers

bang and shock,

he shakes

with glee: delighting

in a burn and crash

contained in space

with loved-ones close

and surly fairground helpers

bound by electricity.

 

One time in Ireland,

the owner let us ride again and again

for free. He’ll meet Saint Peter.

 

But now I whisper to myself

below a lunchtime hubbub

in a City of London restaurant

that here are tons of people, tough

as gulls, alone, forever squalling

lonely

on and on above the sea,

buffeted by what happens next

and whatever’s meant to be.