One Poem by Victor Kennedy

 

Tinkerbell 

 

Growing up in the lowland hills 

Soft, smooth, round grassy domes were my horizon 

Down in the valley the everyday bustle 

of Grandad’s grocery shop 

filled with the glottal stops and rolling rrrs 

of Lowland Scots 

 

Put to work on weekends and holidays 

I helped fill the back of Grandad’s blue Ford van 

with sandwich bags and bottles of drink 

 

The old van started with a clatter 

when Grandad wound the crank beneath the radiator 

 

Then it was off through the countryside 

green and lush 

down narrow winding roads 

girt on either side with drystane walls, roses and rhododendrons 

arms leaning out the open windows 

to catch the breeze 

The motor hummed as Grandad sang  

“Jesus Wants Me for a Sunbeam” 

 

We stopped at a farm 

and while Grandad passed the sandwiches and drinks to the workers 

the farm wife whispered, “Come with me 

I have something to show you” 

 

In the barn there was a litter of kittens 

“Would you like one?” 

“Oh yes!” 

I chose a multi-coloured one 

“That’s called a tortoiseshell 

We’ll put it in this basket and hide it in the back of the van. 

Don’t tell your Grandad till you get home. Show your Nana first!” 

 

All the way home I could hear wee meeps from the back 

as the old van bounced along the road 

I worried, but Grandad didn’t notice 

 

We pulled up in front of the shop as Mum and Nana came out 

wiping their hands on their aprons 

 

“How did it go?” 

“It was lovely. The lady gave me a present.  

She said to show you first” 

 

I jumped out of the passenger side and ran to open the back door 

then opened the lid of the basket 

and she poked her head out 

 

When Grandad saw her, he said, in his gruffest voice 

“You put that right back! We’re taking it back to the farm” 

 

But Nana said, “Wait a minute! 

It will keep the mice out of the shop” 

Mum said, “Oh, she’s so lovely! 

What will you name her?” 

 

I didn’t know 

“We’ll call her Tinkerbell” said Nana 

It was an old-fashioned name  

but it sounded right 

 

Grandad knew he was outvoted

 

Victor Kennedy was born in Scotland, grew up in Canada, and currently lives in Slovenia. A semi-retired Professor of English Literature, he spends his time writing poetry, walking his dog, and trying to play classical guitar.