A Boy That Ran - Poem by James Wilson
Screen-printed Easter skies
Fretted with pockets of grey
Bear scars of winter
Exposed by still-born sun.
Freckled faces lit by excited eyes
Swing recklessly from life's beam
And, with childish feet,
Stampede the ageing tar.
A boy stood stationary
His face umirrored by his disposition;
Before him, synthetic greys and
Ironwork protruding at all angles.
Breaking clasps of conventional wisdom,
His feet like pistons pushing left
And right and left,
He vanquished with the horizon.
All authority gave chase whilst I sat
In a kitchen, discussing and joking,
Exchanging great notes
Of heroic admiration.
In dissapearence he became
More apparent - now remembered
Always by single-frame memories
That decay in ageing minds.
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