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Poetry Library Southbank Centre - The Poetry Library housing the Arts Council Collection at Southbank Centre

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Frank Dullaghan

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Stunt-man

My son took me over to the creek through the knee-high grass
in the prickle of a summer's evening.

We walked in silence. He had just turned thirteen.
He brought me to where the path banked up and turned,

a steep ten-foot grassy gradient on one side. We stopped.
Watch. And he ran and leaped, throwing himself backwards as if shot,

then tucking, rolled to a splayed stillness at the bottom.
He wanted to be a stunt-man in those days.

You try. It's easy, just a backward breakfall and a roll.
I had my jeans on. This was important.

I jumped, came out OK and both of us laughed.
Going home, the sun seemed to melt on the roof-tops

and he showed me the cave the kids had made
beneath a run of heavy-leafed bushes.

We could almost stand up inside, cool and secret.
You're the only one he said.

 

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