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