I wrote this poem as my autistic son went on work experience this week in a cafe, and they paid him £4 so he was thrilled!

You come in clutching
your pound coins - Four!

Your face glows, peacock 
proud. The coins reek

of dirty tables and 
overpriced food. People

who maybe wish
for a plate of chips

not eggs benedict or
a salmon vol au vent

You edge amongst 
the punters, break your

voice through the mirror.
The glass slices your

tongue, the autism a gash
but they say one day

you may even be 'normal'
But why?


© Sarah Drury 2023