Our son plays in the corner
talking his secret language
into an old cookie tin
my husband and I lay on our backs
staring at the leak in the ceiling
our heads touching
the sky is still chalky with dawn
he asks me if I want a biscuit
but he says it
in a Scottish accent
and that is all it takes
we plan an imaginary road trip
as though we are an old Scottish couple
and we force the fatigue
away.