<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Pavement<\/strong><\/p>\n Legs running, legs running to the far end Rearranging and changing sides of the street. Handle bars onto my face. Mouth, blood-filled. I wonder if I put one foot in front <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Peter Burrows<\/strong> lives in the North West. He has worked in public and university libraries, and is currently a librarian in Greater Manchester. His poems have appeared in The North, The Interpreter\u2019s House, The Cannon\u2019s Mouth <\/i>and South<\/i><\/span>.<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Pavement Legs running, legs running to the far end Of the street, echoing stampede of feet After feet. Down again, up again, gather, Disperse. My sister comes over first. Others follow. A bike wheel skids up. The rider eying me like a dull pet, Speeds off. One asks her my name. They […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-14447","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-prose-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/14447","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=14447"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/14447\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":14448,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/14447\/revisions\/14448"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=14447"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=14447"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=14447"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nOf the street, echoing stampede of feet
\nAfter feet. Down again, up again, gather,
\nDisperse. My sister comes over first.
\nOthers follow. A bike wheel skids up.
\nThe rider eying me like a dull pet,
\nSpeeds off. One asks her my name. They drift off.
\nThe pavement\u2019s smooth warmth comforts my bare legs.
\nPlanted within the benign reach of home
\nI return to scraping stones and squishing ants,
\nOccasionally, looking up at distant
\nGoings on \u2013 the shifting shapes and huddles<\/p>\n
\nVenturing like a coach up and down
\nThe touchline at outcomes he cannot change,
\nSuddenly I\u2019m pulled along with the crowd
\nNot knowing what we\u2019re running to or from
\nOr why we\u2019re now standing about. Other times,
\nThe sun high and beating. Tops off. Water fights.
\nDroplets evaporate before our eyes
\nOff the gecko-hopping hot surface. The road
\nSticky like black flapjack. A little plaything,
\nMy brother pushes me fast on my new bike,
\nToo fast \u2013 I win the race \u2013 but fly over<\/p>\n
\nWailing. Days later my top teeth blacken,
\nAnd I\u2019m taken to have them pulled out.
\nReturning with a nod, but back to the side lines
\nWhere I watch some girl from another street
\nDraw a crowd telling tales that are pored over,
\nUncertainly. Where does my brother go
\nBeyond the streets we only pass hand in hand
\nOr by car? Is it the same vague places from where
\nThose older boys come to stand on the edge
\nOf our street unnerving him? As it grows
\nDark our numbers drop with each call home.<\/p>\n
\nOf the other balancing on this kerb,
\nFollowing the edge out as it curves along
\nAll the other streets, looping in and out
\nCould I \u2013 without falling off \u2013 travel the world,
\nUntil I returned again to meet myself,
\nAnd this curious crowd, centred around
\nThis patch where we watch and play, play and learn?
\nAnd then I spot I\u2019m not the smallest anymore.
\nDistracted \u2013 it flies by me: the dull scuffed
\nWayward bounce of the half-flat ball wobbling
\nDown out of our street, and I chase after it.<\/p>\n