after lunch, a tagine
we dodged the showers
to see if the cricket was on
no sign of play, even though the sun shining
just a lap of the boundary
you resting at every bench
as usual
nearly home on the way back
we both rested on the village green
to chew the cud in the dappled light
on a yew bench dedicated to a dead man
watching three young girls
taking selfies
oblivious to the wet grass
our thoughts racing back to 1968
we had a heart to heart
both dancing around the potential
poor outcomes of impending surgery
without making eye contact
both of us staring at a boat
about to disappear over the horizon
*
© Graham Sherwood 05/2021
grahamrichardsherwood.co.uk 