Monday, 13 February 2012

One boy

A year of appearances and disappearances
regular as breathing,
I play peek-a-boo on a grand scale,
Daddy performer working little limbs,
in weekly re-union,
wetting the warm dint of your neck;
in this family boys cry.

There’s been a lot of that lately,
in lost-limb weeks I feel your itching
and your faltering steps,
each time I stumble, hit the decks 
reckless or exploratory,

Warm as my blood, you claim muscle
from soft arms,
train kicking legs to stand
your ground.

I mark it for you, and take my place,
at once; wurlizer, roundabout,
shoot-em up, and clown,
but true too, I am your mute pedagogue,
teaching lost limbs to dance.