NEW TERM .. come again?

NEW TERM

Nine there were. 'A clan', grandpa said.

I leaned on his arm, whispered,

'Gramps, when I'm big as you,

Gonna be a buzzard an' fly off a bit

and happy’

Sandwich sat safe in plastic bag, an' choc'late for energy.. just in case.

(Plus mac, whistle an' drink.) Climbed the gate into Muffin meadow,

along the valley to the hill, then, up puffin' we went to the very top,

peered down at villages an' all. Binoc'lars in hand, watched buzzards

soarin' high in the sky.

Ignoring the rushed-rough hollering, lost in his own quiet world,

boy stretches, yawns, gazes at buttercup flecked field,

closes eyes, thinks .. ‘Last week, the sun shone,

grandpa an' me went about wearin' shorts, thick socks,

walkin' boots, crinkled dubbed bright

.. .. .. 

Ice-box air trembling like Christmas scarves and granny-knit gloves spurned,

hands 'tween thighs warming.. not so innocent thoughts hanging

on chestnut trees lining the avenue. Riotous roads - ant hills on wheels,

frantic, fume spewing traffic trying to beat must-do system,

red - STOP, amber - ANXIOUS.. now - GO!

Bus stops, churning fumes, children " boys, girls, push-shove for seats

clucking high pitched and voice breaking. Lunchboxes post-breakfast raided,

smiles, yells, nudges, whispers, ‘Do a swap, what have you got?’

‘Nuttin' special - just cheese,’ - hiding the pork pie and crisps!

Books juggled, shuffled, quickly opened, elbows will perch pen-scratched surface.

Pencil, eraser sought, retrieved, all hidden in ripped plastic bag

enclosing a silver foil-wrapped biscuit. Project completed - just, groaned over,

blobs, blots, bleatings and curses ripely unready for another term

of boring, useless lessons.

.. .. .. 

Ice-box air trembled icicles inside  bathroom windows,soap fell on floor

said  F word twice, tastes good! Thirteen,  granny-knit gloves spurned

hands 'tween thighs warming. Innocent?  Chestnut trees lining Spangle Avenue.

I grew four inches, left church choir threw away gran’s hymnal, jigsaw

puzzle done in minutes borr- rr -ring.

Gran died soon after and I cried, searched for a something now but gone, 

even scarf. Gramps stopped speaking, grew whiskers he'd never showed afore

now grey thick, ‘Who cares Holidays or not, crackers, cake, trifle, all

a load of tosh.’ He rarely washed. But we tried to love him anyway.

One day he said, ‘I’m off for a sky fly -

Coming, boy?'  Off we went, him

in his old dressing gown, me in a vest

and shorts. Freezing cold we were -

but -  happy.

Reviews

[Lorry]

A glimpse behind the fiction of your mind, where moments cherished once lived, before becoming memories.
Even in fiction you find cherished truths and from the memories come little bits of reality, Wether the character is male or not.
Why is it that we grow in such violent increments in youth, where someone's passing jolts us senseless into seeing the world as it truly is and a little bit of innocence us list. Yet those cherished images forever remain with us and grow us into the people we now are.
An interesting write, with a hint of a diary entry thought to it.
Very nicely captured Emma.

[emmajoygreen]

What a concise yet gently generous review, Lorry. Many, many thank yous.. truly mean that. I'm fond of this poem: arrived uninvited quite a while ago. Came from goodness knows where! Never knew my grandpas.