Saturday, 15 January 2011

The Flood

(Boxing Day, 2010)

Pulling my son on a sledge
Treadmill of
White memories:
My father's arms -
Strong grip on the rope
And me
The load perched up
On green wood-planks
And rusted iron
Lost in exhilarating flight
On a country road.

I'm rushing now
Sleet dissolves the
Screen of my projections
And foamy flesh of
Unrolled snowmen.
My son is whinging
Against the cold.
Stubborn, I carry on.
By God
This reluctant child
Who won't play ball
Who rejects his father's embrace,
And strangers' eyes rested on his face,
Will have it all!

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