NaPoWriMo Thursday, 18th April 2013


Creative Commons License© Andre Abrahami under Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 2.5 Generic License


Approaching the tree,

the old man –



buttoned up in dusty gaberdine –

(a retired headteacher, I decide)

waves his stick.

The child freezes.

And I, placating without asking why, smile.

‘Mulberries’, he says.

Raises his stick again,

takes a swing at a cluster of fruit,

breaking the twigs and leaves,

breaking the rules.

The child, scraping up the scattered mulberries, smiles.

I freeze.

© Marion Adams 2013


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