A Day At 7 Barnard Grove
We played kitchen table tennis to a George
Formby back drop.
Then sparred, our knuckles sheathed in socks.
Sideburns and glasses loomed while the skinny
kid dazzled with his football tricks.
The caterpillar execution unit (two house
bricks) was demonstrated with aplomb.
Arkle, ever present, said and did nothing as
our plank plane hit the ground.
Hot tea and toast was served as we lay prone
beneath a makeshift shelter.
We exchanged glances and laughed at the
absurdity of the situation.
Overhead, the winter starscape shared the joke.
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