Tuesday, 5 January 2016

Poetry 2016 / 005

Sandacre Road, 3:15 PM

Dusk gathers,
fingers of shadow
wrapped around the shouts
of homeward shoolboys.
Exuberance measures in decibels
and the lightness of step
compared to the early unwilling trudge.
The kid with glasses from number twelve
still wearing shorts with chilblain legs
and the cropped back and sides his father had
when he was a similar age.
He bag is whipped away by older lads
flung into the road
where the 2A bus from town,
with horns blaring,
runs over it, scattering books and broken pencils.
With the coast clear the lad retrieves it,
squatting in the road to fit his coloured pencils
back in heir silver case,
unaware of the approaching car
or perhaps inviting it.

Streetlights flicker on.
A horn blares

© Rachel Green 2016

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