He was slight, with glasses, this boy who
Chased birds across the Embankment's
Cracked and ill-set flagstones,
Beside the muddy chug of the river.
They were pigeons, fussing around the
Crumbs and scrag ends of lunches,
Food that fuelled awe-struck tourists
On whistle-stop tours and workers
Seeking refuge from sterile offices:
A brief solitude by the water's edge.
He wore a child's cruelty in his eyes,
Born of the discovery of control,
Manifest in his taunts and shouts,
And they panicked as he charged,
Flapping when he stamped and kicked,
Leading me to wonder in that moment:
If he should fall and keen-aimed claw
Should hook cruel mote from eye,
Might blindness yet beget a wonder
Clearly lost to his young years?
May 5th 2015
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Fragments And Reflections
PoetryPoems looking at everything and anything not in my other collections. Here you'll find life and time, wild oceans and lonely coast paths, busy streets and empty hotel rooms, wild concerts and late night writing. All just fragments and reflections, l...
