The old black pram stood in the dusty shed.
‘How many children do you have?’ she said.
‘Two girls, aged one and two,’ I answered, eyeing the pram.
It was a Dunkley, best that you could buy.
‘Three pounds alright?’ I handed her the notes.
We passed the house and, looking in I saw
Two children having tea with an au pair.
‘What is it like, being married to an artist?’
Her voice held awe, and curiosity.
What could I tell this thin and elegant woman?
She couldn’t know what life was like for me.
And so I told her what she thought she knew.
‘It’s lovely, quite romantic.’ And she beamed.
I turned and wheeled the Dunkley down the street.
The handle felt familiar, cool and sweet.