1
An abrupt halt
with an exclamation for emphasis
as the small child crosses your path
in pursuit of an over-blown balloon
the softness of his butter-blond hair
and warm scalp beneath
these meeting your hand
extended for your own sake
and his by happenstance
not so his father’s insistence
that he make apology
nor this lingering sensation
of swelling in your throat
as you thumb your glasses
up the bridge of your nose
and continue on your way.
2
From one side to the other
is no farther
the terraces loaded
with low-lying solidities
of indefinite origin
the point is not to guess
green embankments
muffle no choirs
authorise no scratchings
early yet the day stretches
a little lacklustre
out of practice
you want the simplicity of wool
an honest retreat
no rush to get there.