One dissociate moment between hurried steps,
this grey and drizzling, coatless rush to school,
late, and uncaring for my suit, my battle armour,
welcoming the aromatic air which freshens sympathies.
Within my incomplete alacrity, from dream-puddled skyscapes
stamped by no serial numbers - only unpredictable children -
someone peered out sudden, round a battered, peeling
door I had long since thought long disused.
No time
even for a slowing stride, barely enough territory
to blend that dizziness with a low-level survey of brickwork
blurring, in an adult equivalent of playing aeroplanes*,
running the checks on preparedness, approaching the gates;
yet I imagined him back there, weeping in the drizzle,
not for self-pity, nor for a thwarting of purpose,
nor even for long imprisonment.
Fulfilment it would have been
crying for anything or everything.
I envied him.
..................................
*aeroplane - I just can not go along with the 'Colonies' ;) 'airplane' . Wrong number of syllables for me.
YOU ARE READING
Tapestries
PoetryPoems from 1978 onwards. These poems are in a different style from the later MajorSeventh, the earlier ones often with more of an Eastern-influenced cadence. Later, they vary a lot in form and style.
