Raincoat wrapped children
follow double denim dad;
sleeves down for the count,
jeans rolled up to show charity shop, discount socks.
The smallest, a girl, dances
in front of double denim dad creating
a wake of raincoat twirls, sewed in mittens
come loose and join her in her orbit. Her heels
spin and twist and bend and coil, skating
across the pavement rink throwing up shards of soil
that coat her wet red raincoat.
The brother walks behind, slightly,
grasping on to double denim dad’s hand.
He is blind, using hand as stick
and sound as sight. He hears
the rain and smells the rain and feels
the rain, but never can he see
its beauty, its ripples in ephemeral
puddles, its cause of numerous traffic troubles,
its heavenly sight after many hours of sunlight.
The trio walk on down the street,
perpetual in length to the boy,
a 90 minute performance to the girl,
the way home to house for the dad.
from: coffeeshoppoems.com
facebook.com/timknightpoetry