Awoke on a Sunday,
funny how it seemed,
familiar places as streets
following kicked cans
to alleyways of boredom.
In albums, fingerprint
photographs of me
tinted to one side;
backyard was a haven,
and that kid knew it.
Black and white
Jack Russell daytimes;
calling “Mum!!” outside
to inspect rose-bed digs
of treasured bones.
That was myself, then
I knew everything
should be joint ventures,
those shared tumbles
rolling backwards
with canine scamp friends;
left unbroken trails
across the back lawn.
