Tuesday, May 8, 2007

An attempt at a Spenserian

I pick the bat up swinging at a ball
whose chord of safety snaps like human skin.
The little head jumps out across the wall
and lands inside a dark red painted tin.
Away from mother- scared, the faith is thin.
The swingball pole has no more ball to bear.
The game is lost- there's no-one who can win,
but that is not the greatest single care,
for now to jump across the neighbours' fence we dare.

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