This afternoon I'm taking my son for a Yarra walk
This afternoon I'm taking my son for a Yarra walk.
BMX mad he weaves between those strolling up ahead.
When he stops - I catch up - and we've time to talk
between his 'hurry ups' and my more plaintive 'watch the edge'.
Calm haze; the city on a languid lazy afternoon,
without the sunscorching need for a hat.
Prone, catatonic lovers embrace and croon.
A scene on-loan from some river painting by Seurat.
We've been to the gallery and watched an orchestra bow then pack.
Passed dying embers of barbecues, the last dregs of afternoon wine.
Seagulls glide as longer shadowes lead us back
through rustling memories of leaf fall's wavering lines.
I drink the beauty of reflected colours all aquiver.
A splash. He's ridden his bike into the river.
BMX mad he weaves between those strolling up ahead.
When he stops - I catch up - and we've time to talk
between his 'hurry ups' and my more plaintive 'watch the edge'.
Calm haze; the city on a languid lazy afternoon,
without the sunscorching need for a hat.
Prone, catatonic lovers embrace and croon.
A scene on-loan from some river painting by Seurat.
We've been to the gallery and watched an orchestra bow then pack.
Passed dying embers of barbecues, the last dregs of afternoon wine.
Seagulls glide as longer shadowes lead us back
through rustling memories of leaf fall's wavering lines.
I drink the beauty of reflected colours all aquiver.
A splash. He's ridden his bike into the river.
[Sonnet from a collection by S.C.N. Pockley]
(CC) reserved by Simon Pockley [1041] I try to respond within 24 hours
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