Geoffrey Winch
Boundaries
The shortest route to Clifford’s house was along our road to the school, over the fence and down the drive past the canteen and coal store to the wall which I’d climb over, dropping-down into his neighbours’ garden (for which I had permission), out of their gate into the back alley, in through Clifford’s and up the garden path to his back door which I’d knock. He would then come out to play at nothing much in his garden or along the alley. Sometimes we’d let Graham—a year our junior—play with us at nothing much as well. And sometimes Clifford’s mother would bring biscuits and squash out for us. I seldom went inside the house—but once or twice I saw his older sister in there. In those days I understood nothing about girls. Boys and girls were not permitted to play together—they had separate playgrounds at the school (though I did kiss Pamela once through the railings). When it was time for me to return home I had a box to stand on in order to climb back over the neighbours’ wall—the level of their garden being much lower than the grounds of the school. The wall had a semi-circular brick coping so was hard for small hands to grip especially in cold weather. Clifford never came to my house—I doubt if he even knew exactly where I lived.
neighbours’ little child
lost her life to polio
strange the loss
I still feel for a girl
I’d never get to know
About the Author
Geoffrey Winch, a retired highway engineer, writes free form poetry; haiku; haibun; tanka; tanka prose and cherita. He is the author of five poetry collections and lives on the south coast of England.