If God said
congratulations you’ve won the lottery
you get back twenty-five years

and I’m on the blue and maroon couch again
dazed as I stare at my unwrinkled
forty-year-old hands

then the screen door slams
and I hear a familiar sing-song
Muuuum, I’m hoooome.

Do I give a damn
about the unmarked essays on my lap?
I fling them aside
and before the papers flutter to the floor
I’m out the door
stumbling along the hall to the kitchen

and there she is
head inside the refrigerator
sturdy legs the color of maple syrup
fine blonde hairs like golden thread
and love heart socks scrunched at the ankles.

Do I complain
she’s dumped her school bag on the linoleum?
No No. No. I gather her in my arms
bury my face in her washboard chest
and breathe in her sweet sweaty-girl scent.

She strokes my brow
sweeps hair off my forehead with a pudgy hand
as I used to brush away her damp curls
and sing her to sleep

and when she shrieks
Mum, you’re going grey

I twirl her round the room
and we warble like magpies at the top of our voices
girls just wanna have fun.