Friday, September 28, 2012

With my grandson

Walking through the park

A brindled bull dog choke chained to my wrist

Pushing my year old grandson

snoozing in a three wheeled jogging stroller

I'm tender and tough

This old run down park is too.  

Paint crews know this place.

When the budget can spare the hours

they struggle to stay ahead of the graffiti.

We jog by two tatted gang kids

 moving toward the shadows cast by the old olive trees.

Shade and breeze beckon.

Laid out on the cool grass one hand on the dog,

long stretched and content,

the other on Logan's stroller.

I begin to doze.

                 Logan's chubby grubby toes turned out as he dreams

relax into

this most sweet

and joyful


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