Hidden
My mother knows I’m here,
down behind the front seat in the dark space
where people in the back seat put their feet,
with gritty bits and half a rotting leaf
and a sweet paper sticking to my hand.
I just fit in here, hidden, squeezed in tight.
My father doesn’t know I’m here;
just off the London train smelling of the Times,
opening the car door tiredly climbing in –
he doesn’t know I’m here, and she pretends.
Crouching in my little place I wait,
my tummy quivering with a secret laugh.
I’ll wait until we’re driving up the hill
I’ll wait until I can’t wait any more
and then I’ll pop up just behind his head
and laugh out loud into his shiny ear
and listen to his marvellous surprise
‘Good heavens! I didn’t know that you were there!’
by Polly Blackley
qarrtsiluni 
“my tummy quivering with a secret laugh”
“and laugh out loud into his shiny ear”
It’s the details that bring this poem to life. An utterly charming sketch of a child’s sense of suspense and pleasure.
I loved the suspense in this poem, the anticipation of something dark in the sticky sweet paper and the rotting leaves … and then the laughter, the secret released into that “shiny ear.”
The origin of joy! What a delight to read.
Yes, that shiny ear really stands out–and the marvellous surprise, both for the father in the poem, and for us, the
readers.
polly, what an endearing memory. i must’ve done that once, because it seems as if it is my memory! i had a very affectionate relationship with my dad – i was lucky that way. thanks for sharing yours.