Perspective
In front of me,
there’s him and the sea.
I look back up the beach.
My parents sit there, side by side,
like they’re watching a film.
When I see them like that,
I want to get closer to them.
But when I am,
I don’t.
I watch them again
from far away.
This time they’re with him,
slow pleasure
to his quick, crazy joy.
He’s running up and down,
towards me
and away.
He can’t see me at all from there.
And when I get closer,
he doesn’t know it’s me
until I’m on them,
because he only knows
‘here’ and ‘not’.
He doesn’t understand
that people can be close,
and then be far away.
Page(s) 8
magazine list
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- Paper, The
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- Poetry London (1951)
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- Review, The
- Rialto, The
- Second Aeon
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- Shearsman
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- Staple
- Strange Faeces
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- Thumbscrew
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