Scene from a passing car (East Kilbride 8.12 am).

Already up to cause a fuss, 

When spooked by the horn of a passing bus,

(Gone, past Micky Ds),

An angry boy trying grown-up clothes,

Finger salutes invisible foes.

Cap is lifted forty-five degrees

To let off steam;
In an instant, all ashout:
"You know what? I'm mean."

Then,
Vengeance dribbling from his lips,
With gallus, rehearsed, swaggering hips,
And a single nod to his young team,
He's off again,
To live the dream.

Another Swimming Lesson

Cautiously,
Waiting at the edge,
Backing off,
Searching for the zone.

In a movement,
In one moment,
He is leaving fear
On the sidelines,
And
Dipping his toe in,
Splashing right under.

A boy in blue goggles,
Hugged by a woggle,
Lapping attention,
As water pulls him down,
Paddling and proud,
Head up, catching eyes,
Straining with all his tiny might.

The smallest in the class,
Bustling across the surface,
Sucked in the slipstream
Of a cavalry charge
Bringing him home.

Riding a red horse to shore,
In the slow cantering spray of
Enjoying himself.

Swimming Lesson

An intent listener
Concentrating  
As the chatter of children
Splashes through your ears.

Pretty in pink
At home near H20
You giggle in goggles
When you notice me.

Diving right in
You cut through chlorine
Kicking in scissors
Scything the surface
A frog-legged torpedo
Destination locked in
Seconds until arrival
A few breaths per breadth.

Then bobbing, like a buoy,
You wait in synchronicity
With the water.

Today you are
A butterfly ballerina
Spreading your wings
Across the deep end.

And I am watching
With pride
A new swimming sensation.




Also posted on Poetry Jam