Matchbox Milk Float

It was in a dream I had, a toy
Pale green with a white abstraction of milk crates
Up back. I think I had one like it
When a child, maybe a present, or perhaps
An impulsive purchase now remembered
Unbidden, to fit at night amongst my thoughts
Too crowded when awake, with fears
For a mother, so cast adrift, diminished by disease
That she would put a coat on over nightclothes
And head off to the shops, or try to open
Her back door with a fruit knife or a coin
Until I had no choice. The deception
Was the greatest of my life.
"This is like your lunch club,
"But they'll let you stay
"A little longer 'til we sort your doors."
I left her at the care home, lost but safe.
One week later there it was,
Play-chipped amongst some jumble on a stall
Its simple form as pleasing as before
The milk float from my baffling dream
I bought it, put it in a bag
In my fleece pocket where it still remains.
I take it out, I turn it in my hand
Or, when alone sit it on the dashboard of my car
Where it skites from side to side
As if driving free while all the time
Controlled by things it cannot change
Hearing this, you may call me childish or,
In kindness, childlike. I disagree, but
I often wish that it was true.

The colours o numbers

Numbers. Ah could coont afore Ah went tae schuil. Yin nicht Ah wis in ma bed and Ah decidit tae coont tae a hunner. Whit a feelin! Ah got tae eighty odds and felt Ah wis awa up high and if Ah didnae keep coontin, Ah'd faw doon an end up in a heap wi yin and twa and three and aw the wee numbers. Mind you, they wee numbers were like freens.

Yin. A black number. Does its ain thing, like yon cat that walked by himsel wi his tail stuck up. It wis in a book.

Twa. A blue number. Ye can rely on twa. It thinks things oot, has a wee blether wi itsel.

Three. A rid number. A bit o a superhero number, but like Robin, no Batman.

Fower. Yellae. Sensible number, twa by twa.

Five. Blue, but lightern twa. Hauf o ten. Like ten wis when it wis a young laddie, oot havin fun.

Six. Awfie pale yellae. Ye can make a triangle oot o six dots but it's no the maist exciting number. Kindae fills a space atween five and seeven.

Seeven. Green. Clever, magic number.

Eight. Purple. Ower fond o its foods. Freenly number, like yir uncle. Ma uncle had this yooni maths books wi deid eights in it. ∞∞∞∞ They're no deid eights by the way, they're cried infinites.

Nine. Aye changin colour, dependin on the way ye look lat it. An amazin number, ye can make it intae a square wi three rows o three dots. Nine is like Batman. Ye wid want nine on yir side in a fecht. Nine kens aw aboot mechanics, like yir dad, and space.

Ten. Ten thinks it's great, sittin there like God in a chair, waitin for everythin tae come up tae it. But ten wid be nothin withoot the cat that walked by itsel, and wid only be the cat withoot zero, the hero, the golden ring. Zero is amazin. If it wisnae for zero, which was inventit by an Indian but no yin wi a horse, we wid aw hae stupit numbers like on the clock in ma class. VII, XI, whit's that aw aboot?

Numbers were like a gang but a good gang like Oor Wullie's except there is ten o them, no countin ten. Mibbe mair like the Broons, a faimly, no a gang. Except there are no lassie numbers. Mibbe six, Ah cannae tell. Ah asked Elsie Campbell if she thocht ony numbers were lassies, because she is yin, but she looked at me the wey she did when Ah asked her whit colour wis Wednesday in her heid.