The playgrounds are full of a different generation
Of parents, playing with their children, watching
Their children, talking with each other.
It’s enough to make the middle-aged parent in me
Envious, although I recall doing the same thing and
Longing to be somwehere else doing something else;
Watching teams rush around frozen ground, lying
On a bed reading, playing some irrelevant sport
For the sake of hot breath, steam, and moral victory.
But afterwards, the tired tiny body on my knees,
Face in my chest, fast asleep, that regular breath and
Warmth, the mutual safety, the bottomless love.
R, 19/11/2022 19:38
AGGIE’S ART OF HAPPINESS – CHAPTER 253