(growing Pains) 12. Tennis In Bournemouth - Poem by Janice Windle
Eyed by pigeons and the tall windows
of elegant cream mansions
she and he enter the court.
Father and daughter, mentor and child,
Left outside, I contribute
the only way I know.
From a damp bench, peering through
the barrier of wire,
I draw them.
Years later, I see that I have drawn
the netting round the court
like a prisoner viewing
the exercise yard.
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