I am in a circus trick of the balancing kind
my running feet must never leave
this rolling planet's surface
as I make my way back home,
and all I want to do is sleep, not plod.
And there again in the sound of the wind
through wires in the empty playground
where a concrete whale
dopey with its ache for children
to play, can't stop smiling, love
right there, and in the way that last corner
before home calmly crooks
like a parent's elbow, restful
around their child despite knowing
all that we cannot bear.
Kay McKenzie Cooke
This is a poem in its first draft (like all my others posted recently). I am doing NaPoWriMo all through April, attempting to write a poem a day - and it's just about killing me! They are all imperfect and un-formed, so please excuse ...
For more perfectly formed poems, I urge you to go here (to Tuesday's Poem).