I sit
on top of the hill
in an old English
graveyard
in the middle of Ireland
which has been here
since 1860 something or other
reading Elizabeth Gaskel’s
MARY BARTON
a teenager
on top of
a broken tombstone.
The dead don’t bother me.
I don’t bother them
on this the sunniest
of days
reading of a time
the men
buried here
were more alive
than I
now.
*******
ZAK’S PRAYER
Little Zak
(just a little scrap of a chap)
with a deep Barry White voice
enquires(as he enquires
about everything) :
“Why is your hair white? ”
He listens patiently to the explanation
how after a head injury
“I went white overnight! ”
Being a good
Christian child
he tells me
he will pray for me
for the “black to be back! ”
I’m very tempted
to dye it for the next day
just to prove his prayer
right.
when his fervent prayer
doesn’t turn the situation around
…he frets.
I tell him
God & me
are both happy
with it…like this.
“Really? ”
He asks.
“Really! ”
I affirm.
“Have it your own way then
but man…
It makes you look
old & grim.
I grin
tell him that I am
but that I can live with it.
*******
FROM THE MOUTHS OF BABES
I have convinced
myself
I am not all that
fat
& believe it
with all my 15 stone
until a child
in class
pats my tummy.
“Ah, Sir’s gonna have a
baby! ”
Guess I’ve been
told!
*******
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