Green Scrim
It is warm
The sort of warm where nothing else matters
November warm in the south
Coming off
what only southerners feel is winter
We take our son to the park
People parade their skin
We watch the others with green scrim on their New Zealand made buggies
that would have been a distraction to my eye only a year ago
There is an article in the Sunday newspaper
Spread out flapping like the trees in the gentle breeze
Amusing young eyes
About how mums are getting older
When I reach the second line
A girl who cant be more than twenty passes with her buggy and no green scrim
She stares all the same
The green scrim folds over the young eyes
Exhausted by the trees
Crying that filters through the park until sleep
Feeling its way reaches the scene of the crime
At least a crime to those who don’t seem to understand
Or who have forgotten how it used to be
There was probably no ozone hole back then either
No green scrim
No rigid by the book schedules
No questions about going back to work
Or endless talk of how much you made on your house last year
Just the simplicity and complexity of two wide eyes
Staring at the trees
posted by Mattenz @ 5:05 pm
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