29. The child in me

Wrinkles expose the scars of time,

ravishes of rampaging life,

the disfigurements of failure,

laughter lines of success.

These are not the projections

of childhood expectations:

sunshine for tomorrow,

permanence.

Golden fields pepper the past:

trike rides in everlasting summers,

snow ball fights in Christmas holidays,

hiding in ambush for exotic strangers

with red skins and feathered heads,

reading comics in bed ‘til ten o’clock.

The long walk to school

risking footfall on pavement cracks,

hopscotch skip and jump,

the gallop of Trigger

or foot drawl of Blind Pew.

Always being the last pick

for the playground football match:

disappointed that no-one recognised me -

Roy of the Rovers

one day…..

Spending ages pondering which angel

around the manger was Santa Claus

and why were there camels and not reindeer.

Walking with dinosaurs - fearless of their magnitude,

stalking Stukkas in a Spitfire.

Superboy, indestructible,

needing a bandage on a splinter

a kiss on the bruise.

Fantasies of constancy in a changing world

where ‘there is no success like failure

and failure is no success at all’.

Finding, between the manger

that has no Santa Claus

and the black pain of a Good Friday,

there is room for me

and I am not

the last

pick.