#poem #poetry #amwriting #sketchbook #slide

before I became
              became the boy the world moulded
still possessing the honesty of young children
I would crawl beneath the sheets and blankets
of my parents bed
             and revel in the smell of them
as up and down the bed I'd go, grabbing toes
and twisting ankles, daring them to join me
in freedom
                    only on sundays -
snoozing they would ignore me until
going to far - I would land with my knees
in the small of my fathers back

                      and now I am the foil
to be stood on, my knees a slide
buffeted by the tumble and the challenge
until a smiling round face
     appears at my shoulder
and I understand the need we have
to be close to our father