Vincent James Turner (Essex)

Snow Globe

He monkeys with airless abandon.
Calling for clothes,
tugging the door
yelping like hyperactivity personified.

I’d always hoped such moments
Would come as natural
As the first conscious breath of morning-
us bounding out the door,
into a street so silent
our opaque breath
is athletic in its climb to the sky.

He senses it
yet pays no mind
his world is the world
in which everything is what he wills it to be-
an endlessly shaken snow globe
where we are constant in our surprise.

Where my sluggish approach,
lethargic and aged
washes over him-
like water to a ducks back

For he and I will play and make angels
with flailing arms,
we'll throw a dirty black ball or two
attempt a snow man,
humanise him with buttons for eyes
then when we are too cold
we will go inside
shut the door
and wait for nature to shake us again.