Saturday afternoon,
the air, now so hot, and streets
busy with that slightly faster pace of personal intention,
weekend plans:
I remember the face from years ago -
dropout, errand boy, chancer, hanging around;
carrying that resentful face that settles on some school-age kids:
I'm just not bright...I'm told;
but here, now, today, at the pub' s front table
with his two sons, shining with non-stop conversation -
one an intelligent seven-and-a half, I'd guess,
one a very bright five-year-old,
-both of course a dab with mobile phones;
yet far more lively interested in the moment's talk
on this special boys' day out-
and though Dad reads the menu with slow finger,
you can almost see that magic circle in the air
that spells the enchantment of the family;
and I'm transported by wonder far past words
at that other magic circle
of love, sperm, fatherhood
and love...
This is beautiful. Can't have expectations on anyone from youth, eh? The ending is simply superb. Raynette
Well said, Michael. I love the relaxed observance and intentional slow-paced stroll to the finish.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Very beautiful and sensitive description of parenthood. Parenthood changes our lives in many ways. It casts a spell and children are so wonderfully oblivious to that magic. GS