It was a sunny autumn
day -
the sunlight soft
as baby’s first blonde
hair
brushed against the
right cheek.
An autumnal day of
slanted light,
like that last promise
we’d meet
that will never be met
-
life intrudes and
roosts,
curled toes and
ruffled feathers, like pigeons
in the shadows of the
truly intended words.
In the distance I
heard the calls of men,
the umpires' whistles
and the distant thwump
of a leather ball
being kicked.
My hand felt then, the
skin
that shivered beneath
the flannelette shirt
and I wondered what
distant events
might kick this
leather again.
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