I wouldn’t dare do this on my own,
wandering around old stomping grounds,
a wry smile here a shake of the head there
a quizzical frown at changes made,
ruing things missing from when
we were young and knew
everything and everybody
throwing up random questions
in the air like playing jacks
hoping at least one
safe pair of hands
would know the answer,
we Old Grey Walkers
a bunch of senior boys
who hit the buffers years ago,
ambling in search of our
playgrounds long gone,
a dangerous gang
now brandishing dulling memories
for sharpened sticks,
hugging trees but not climbing them,
blood test brothers
medication mates,
bound by the magic chord
of a shared childhood,
when we reluctantly part
the handshakes grip that little longer
smiling eyes meet
with an unspoken manly love
each hoping upon hope
there’ll be at least another day
*
© Graham R Sherwood 10/22
grahamrichardsherwood.co.uk 