Child’s play is a serious business.
You can tell by the furrow and
the earnest tongue -
how it protrudes for extra concentration.

And when it suddenly shifts
from one side to the other -
Brace yourselves,
you’re in for something very special;
possibly involving a necklace
of painted pasta shells.

When did we stop skipping?
When did we stop thinking that skipping was a legit option and preferred to walking or running?

When did the bounce and joy of a skip stop being the mode of choice?

And why don't we follow Millie and Trish? They could run a workshop: after service we could meet at the far end of the corridor, hold hands, and try to match their joy. But no matter how many lessons we had, I think we'd struggle to keep pace with Trish. (Though Millie would give it a good try.)

I'm still not clear why we stopped, but I think it's something to do with innocence - the loss of it. That and a failure of indifference.

I think I should start practising for the workshop; I don't want to make a fool of myself.

Some songs have a girl's name.

And I wonder
what came first?
The song or the title?
The passion or the girl?

I expect it was the latter,
followed by the sorrow.

And I expect the words
were found much later.

The coy moon left us fumbling
wandering in the sleepless warmth
transformed by night sweats
and wet despair
into fractious infants crying
for relief from the night fires.

Douse me now!

Take your bible out.
Thaw at room temperature
with a bedside prayer.

By morning you'll find
every page will have suffused
ineffably.

The sacred have kept
their biblical pro-portions.
Savour each mouthful.

All your 5 a day.