I have a son
With high-functioning autism
He’s a wonderful kid
But my wife & I have had to accept
That his mind is a prison
Of course
When it comes to people like this
However hard it gets
They have a beautiful vision
Of life for themselves
We take him to the train station
Every day
To see the trains
Everything is the same
All of the time
& this for him reads sublime
I do worry about him now and then
Of course I do
Wouldn’t you?
But I’ve also accepted who he is
Who he isn’t
He’s a magic kid
Who does only his best
Even if sometimes he feels the need
To exclude the rest
Of the boys & girls in his class
He doesn’t like football
A father & son ritual
Even if my son didn’t have autism
It’s not a sport that will appeal to all
So my wife & I continue on
He needs our help
But the truth is this
It’s he who manages to make us strong
I would never see him wrong
So his can in fact be a cosy prison
With no television
Just him
His imagination
& that aforementioned beautiful vision
He’ll keep on keeping on
‘Cos that’s what he does
He will always make us worry
It’s par of the course
For sure
When one kid develops faster than the other
The ‘dysfunctional’ one
Will always look to his mother
For help
Owed to Ian’s perfection
Math is a major no-no
‘Cos it’s never routine
So he always finds it hard
To add the numbers up
To go with the flow
But we love him more than ever
No less, no more than his younger brother Trevor
So if you see Ian out & about
Feel free to give him a wave
A shout
‘Cos we’ve thought him well
A certain kind of flow
To which he will go