Benign is a word I could bathe in
as you pour your baby bubbles
under the hot tap pretending
they are aliens from outer space
that need to be popped. It’s hard
to measure the enemy within.

You fight battles with Daleks and Cybermen,
Zygons gone bad, a large cuddly toy dog
called Davros, and tell me we need to hide
in your cardboard box TARDIS.
It never fails to surprise me
that it’s bigger on the inside.

The bathtub a spaceship on its way
to Galafrey, the peace of radiated pyjamas,
a bottle of warm milk, a scary story
about slaying dragons. These small victories
of bedtime are as beautiful as your sleeping face.
Such perfect little boy dreams.

I am flooded with relief that for the moment
we are safe, safe from the surgical mutations
of scars that show strange creatures
that are part of me and yet not me.

It is not a war no matter what they say
but then again nor is it just a game.


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