Poetry Magazines - The best collection of poetry magazines online - Simon Armitage

       I first see him as I turn the corner right, up the avenue of the long brown woodland path, speeding down towards me as if his brakes have failed completely - as I hurry to sidestep through the gap by the gate’s side where he’ll arrive - greeting him then in his biker’s briefs, helmet and moustache as he breezes to a halt, and cheerily smiles.

       And then his young son comes trailing white-faced behind.

       And I think of him following his father in his mind, years from now, seeing what it was to choose him from spirit, as he writes. I see him taking that endless path again in memory slowing repeatedly, with his feet hardly able to touch the ground, with his father whizzing on like the wind ahead of him.

       And then half a mile further on, up through the woods, after walking out over the bare stalks of the harvested fields, and resting in a sunny patch of grass - I hear his tyres, closening behind me as he smiles, ‘We meet again!’, and on he goes, down the rutted stone-strewn track, without so much as a skid or a swerve - his son nowhere to be seen, as he stops and waits. And I find I am waiting too.

       Then eventually after several long minutes, up he comes behind, in the ordeal of it; nervous at the loose stones, apologizing ‘oops’ as he passes me - following the long umbilicus down to where his Dad waits gleaming black in the sun.

      They pause for a moment as Dad advises about braking  - then on they go again, joined one indissolubly to the other, the man in front and the little angel behind, down the long path of all the years to come.

       Rushing air, the racing dry uneven ground - It’s like holding my breath.  I keep thinking, ‘I’m going to fall off, but I’ve got to get there -’

       And I wonder what exactly he’ll write.