In the School Yard.
The hand I brush against by chance(!),
Is soft and gentle as my glance,
That's half afraid to smile for fear,
It might be seen by ‘rough’ boys near.
The deep brown eyes now seem to say,
Communicate, but not today,
And soft warm lips might well as be,
A thousand miles away from me.
I sense rapport, affection deep,
I dream he's in my arms to keep,
Then sunlight catches freckled nose,
Exquisite despite the school day clothes.
I must not let the moment go,
Say something fool, don't be too slow,
The words come out, unnatural strained,
"Hallo! You're new?" Some ground is gained.
He beams with joy, no sign of fear,
"That's right," he says, "my first day here."
"Where you from? What year you in?"
The whistle blew! I couldn't win!
"See you later. What's your name?"
"James. And you?" I said "The same!"
Perhaps that fact a message sends,
And very soon we'll be good friends.
The day passed slowly, quite a drag,
I got in trouble, mislaid my bag,
"Concentrate James!" teachers said,
But elsewhere, my thoughts they led.
At last came home time slowly round,
To the bus park all were bound,
Then there I saw among the few,
This other James. He’s in my queue!
Could it be true could it be real,
Was fate a "good hand" going to deal?
His eye met mine he gave a grin,
And sidled through, beauteous thin.
Thin is unkind, but then it rhymed,
Lean, lithe, the words I really mimed,
"We moved to Oakwood, just last week."
He said with look so full of cheek.
I never thought that where I live,
Could be a name a thrill to give,
"In Parker Street to be exact!"
Just round the corner! What a fact!
This poem is copyright 2003 Apuleius, to whom comments may be sent.
