Young Old Boys

we meet to walk

young old boys from junior school

back together for our final term,

we laugh until it hurts

and sometimes if dust gets in our eyes

make nought of it,

we used to roam these pits all day,

now they’re called country parks with

safe gravel paths and picture signs

although the newts and butterflies

have gone for a burton,

we talk of heart valves, pacemakers

hips and knees, girlfriends

villains fought and

boy scout pranks,

our winsome wrinkled

vacant smiles clear

the distant mists as in Brigadoon,

when it’s time, the adieu

handshakes and embraces

grip a little tighter, for longer

each of us hoping we’ll

still be around to hear

the next school bell,

old young boys back

again for one last jape

Published by grahamrsherwood