Don't Be Like Me, She Says(CPlatt) He goes round to see his grandmother
for his weekly after-school visit.
She offers him a cup of tea and
they settle down at the table.

How’s things? she asks.
Yeah, okay, I suppose, he shrugs.
As they sip their mugs of tea they chat,
put the world to rights.

She mentions a new art exhibition
at the Lowry gallery next month.
We should go during half-term.
That sounds like a plan.

Are you okay, love? She asks.
You don’t seem yourself today.
He explains about the school restructure
how he doesn’t fit in with his new class mates.

Don’t be like me, she says.
Stop worrying about what people think,
stop worrying and do what pleases you.
Don’t be like me, she says again.


He says nothing, merely nods in agreement.
It’s only when he’s alone, on the bus home,
that the words start to flow,
what he should have said, the reply that didn’t come.

Don’t be like me, she says.
But he is like her, he has her interest
in history, in art, in literature,
in museums, in writing and language.

She taught him about the Second World War,
about Shakespeare and Charles Dickens,
she has taught him more than any teacher,
in any class-room, ever could.

Don’t be like me, she says.
As the bus nears his stop, he shakes his head.
Way too late for that, he says aloud,
and I wouldn’t change a thing.

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