At the end of a hard day, an easy-chair
and a cold beer –
a letter from a long-forgotten friend.
A cake I’ve freshly-baked that doesn’t sag
in the middle.
A parking place at Tesco by the entrance,
that's not labelled, ‘Disabled’.
A bird I haven’t seen before
that chooses my garden
to fly into.
My cat sleeping soundly by the fire -
the cosy sound of rain on the window.
The whistle of a train, way in the distance
and being glad I haven’t anywhere to be.
The feeling of my youngest,
nuzzling at my breast.
Walking on the heath, flying his kite
how it felt to be a child. Wanting
everything in sight and more.
why I couldn’t do this and do that.
Happy as a sand-boy
until my mother reigned me in.
After all, a kite can only fly,
if we hold on tight to its string.