30 June 2012
On a new estate in England, somewhere in Milton Keynes, Mother went out shopping, for brie, baguettes and beans. She drove off in the hatchback down the hyper store 'shopping is a drag' she said 'and such a frightful bore'. The parking lot is always full, the checkout takes so long, One always has to check one's change in case they got it wrong. The children keep on whining for bags of crisps and sweets and I've already bought them a lolly and some treats. It becomes harder every week to fill up the deep freeze and have you seen the price today of Gorgonzola cheese?
In a little Balkan village, somewhere in Kosovo, Mother went out walking, but the steps were sad and slow. The tiny tear stained bundle, she hugged close to her breast, though heavy in her stick like arms, she dare not stop to rest. 'A few more miles to the border and milk for you,' they said, 'How lucky you are my little one, the others are all dead.' Mother reached the border as the evening sun turned gold, a little milk was waiting, but the bundle had grown cold.
I've often been to Milton Keynes; Though not to Kosovo. I don't think God has either, But I think he ought to go.
TOM MAY
Mothers • Opuss № I