Tuesday, 13 June 2017
the open gate
[edited version]
I pass an open gate,
An unaccustomed window in high fencing.
Two men, mug in hand,
Look up the bank at
Heaps of earth, a barrow,
Spades.
One, the boss,
Downs his drink,
Nods and says,
No use standing around.
How often did I see men
Do similar in my childhood?
See my dad, or Doug
The builder.
Or Reuben or Norman
On the farm.
I see the same elsewhere in Oxford,
In Bampton. We've seen it
On holiday, even when we've not
Known the language.
A universal moment
On a summer morning.
Timeless, trivially-essentially
Human.
I pass an open gate,
An unaccustomed window in high fencing.
Two men, mug in hand,
Look up the bank at
Heaps of earth, a barrow,
Spades.
One, the boss,
Downs his drink,
Nods and says,
No use standing around.
How often did I see men
Do similar in my childhood?
See my dad, or Doug
The builder.
Or Reuben or Norman
On the farm.
I see the same elsewhere in Oxford,
In Bampton. We've seen it
On holiday, even when we've not
Known the language.
A universal moment
On a summer morning.
Timeless, trivially-essentially
Human.
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A touch of Seamus Heaney...
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