(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!
Saturday, 15 January 2011
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