Sven and I were great childhood friends,
we instinctively understood one another
and could be silent for hours.
After school we’re always together went cycling,
climbing rocks or fishing by the docks.
His mother disapproved
she had middle class aspirations for her son
and didn’t want him tainted by the speech of the street.
During the long summer holidays we parted,
his parents had a log cabin up the mountain, near a lake,
I was never invited there.
Could gone on holiday too
organised by the social services,
went once,
hated it
rebelled against petty tyranny
and was quickly expelled.
Walked streets alone
went fishing by the docks
dreaming heroic dreams
while waiting for Sven to come home;
he always did
except that last year.
Back at school
our teacher told us
that he had drowned
and we prayed for his soul.
Met his mother
who stroked my hair
and thanked me for being his loyal friend,
you see being without his best mate
Sven had gone fishing in the lake alone.

Suffer little mothers
you don’t always know
what’s best for your children.