I am reading bedtime stories to my daughter,
three teddies, a pedigree horse and two angels;
re-telling the tale of Moses, as plastic Barbie
with blonde hair stares up with blank blue eyes.
I am nearing the conclusion where he is banished
from kissing the sacred soil of the Promised Land
despite surviving the Passover, pestilence of locus
the parting of, and crushing water wall of the Nile.
She placed her tiny fingered hand over the pages
of the Childs Bible, indicating that we’d finished.
Looking up at me she said “Dad, why didn’t God
just do what you and mummy do, when I’m tired
and grumpy - and put him on the naughty stair?”
Posted over on Applehouse Poetry