Poem for my grandson Quinn

Today
the price of petrol is up again
but you’re not going anywhere:

you lie
snug in your hospital crib,
visitors 3 to 8pm, Mother’s milk

on tap
and a wardrobe mistress to attend to
those messier moments. This

is life
on the outside.
Takes a little getting used to, I’ll admit.

A word in
your shell-like:
always own toys,

shine a light
on skeletons in
or out of the dark,

and make it a habit to sing in the bath.
From history, learn to create
the future.

Now, go forth.
I think you are ready.