Year of the Rabbit
We were together in so many; straddling
a stile at the top of a hill; zapping
midges at the reservoir, walking
the trunk of a felled oak tree – blown
down in a corridor of wind; huddling
together on the stones by the train-track.
Talking of so much and so little...
how your dad made you hunt
for snails in your own backyard;
then actually, cooked and ate them.
Of Ronnie Biggs – of Jackie Onassis;
where we were, what we were doing
when Kennedy was shot. Would
the Beatles make number one? How
I hated the braces on my teeth.
How the brown-leaved copper beeches
cackled in the wind like so many witches,
and how our hands shook – placing
that little cardboard box in God’s
good earth... reluctant partners in this,
yet to come to terms with, death thing.
Me...vowing I would never again
have another hamster, then you
made a rabbit, out of your hankie...
made me smile.
Crazy then...the two of us; caught up
in a pink, hula-hoop of a world, twirling
round our waists, whilst day followed day
followed day, and you were the best
of every one. From out of the mist,
the faint buzz of a distant express.
Heads down – ears to the rails;
hearing them zing.