I see you running, languid
like a toned athlete
everything working in a straight line, syncopated
before you tumble and flip over
the metal bike park hoops
without a care, flashing your pants,
untamed hair upside down
hanging like a ogre’s beard, inverted
you glance at my terrified face
and send me that mischievous smile
which silently comforts
‘Don’t worry Papa’.
O that I could freeze you there
in that perfect childhood moment.
*
© Graham Sherwood 07/2019
grahamrichardsherwood.co.uk 