Course, she says

you might have never been born.

Your little nana worked hard,

at her three floor, full bed and board

guest-house.

I slept under tables,

sorted place settings before school

until 1955 and these Burmese boys

arrived in Weston-Super-Mare

started using our kitchen,

as small as it was, as small as I was.

And we loved their spices

and off-peak curry.

RAF Locking, where those

posh slim pilots

spent daytimes learning

some state of the art radio thing

and there was this one, Tin-tun,

who took a shine to me and me to him

How I remember that summer,

me with my mother, Tin-Tun and Thanian

on a short London weekend

me at thirteen and he twenty-three

and we all seemingly off to Burma.

All was set, we were going for good

until mum couldn’t get hold of

her husband, out there in Cardiff

gambling and unreachable again.

No contact means no joint permission

so their High Commission broke my heart.

Forlorn, I was unsure if my life could go on,

so, you see my dear

in more ways than one

you and your siblings

just might never have been born.

.