Listen to the world’s best poetry read out loud.

I’m 11. And I don’t really know
my Two Times Table. Teacher says its disgraceful
But even if I had the time, I feel too tired.
Ron’s 5, Samantha’s 3, Carole’s 18 months,
and then there’s Baby. I do what’s required.

Mum’s working. Dad’s away. And so
I dress them, give them breakfast. Mrs Russell
moves in, and I take Ron to school.
Miss Eames calls me an old-fashioned word: Dunce.
Doreen Maloney says I’m a fool.

After tea, to the Rec. Pram-pushing’s slow
but on fine days it’s a good place, full
of larky boys. When 6 shows on the clock
I put the kids to bed. I’m free for once.
At about 7 – Mum’s key on the lock.