Saturday afternoon, <br />the air, now so hot, and streets <br />busy with that slightly faster pace of personal intention, <br />weekend plans: <br /> <br />I remember the face from years ago - <br />dropout, errand boy, chancer, hanging around; <br />carrying that resentful face that settles on some school-age kids: <br />I'm just not bright...I'm told; <br /> <br />but here, now, today, at the pub' s front table <br />with his two sons, shining with non-stop conversation - <br />one an intelligent seven-and-a half, I'd guess, <br />one a very bright five-year-old, <br />-both of course a dab with mobile phones; <br />yet far more lively interested in the moment's talk <br />on this special boys' day out- <br />and though Dad reads the menu with slow finger, <br />you can almost see that magic circle in the air <br />that spells the enchantment of the family; <br /> <br />and I'm transported by wonder far past words <br />at that other magic circle <br />of love, sperm, fatherhood <br />and love...<br /><br />Michael Shepherd<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/0399-the-father/
