Just Out of Reach

 

They taunt me, you know,
Whirling on their way, swaying
And sashaying smugly across the plain
Just out of reach as I struggle back to Homeplate,
Grateful for each stolen moment’s rest,
Dragging my dead wheel behind me
Like a broken legged dog.
They see me limping along,
I’m sure of it; laugh at my body thick
With dust, arms and eyes crusted-over
With cinnamon-hued fines
Yet time and time again they pass me by,
Knowing that just one gentle kiss
From one of them
Would make me clean again.

I should hate them for the way
They dance across the land so freely,
Skating giddily without a care,
Rushing breathlessly from here to there
While I can only heave myself
One painful metre at a time –
And yet, I pity them, for
Their lives are short and they must die
Before even knowing they are alive,
Whirling themselves into oblivion
Before my helpless eyes,
Leaving me alone among the silent stones
Again –

– until the next ones pass me by,
Laughing at me and singing
As they spin across the sky…

Just out of reach.

 

© Stuart Atkinson 2007

 


 

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