A distant wintry sun dimly lights
this Saturday afternoon from a pale
blue sky dotted with faint cloud drifts.
The stark bare branches of the tree
next door make a tracery against
the eggshell blue dome overhead.
Last night’s frost on the grass has
melted but not yet dried out
in the long solstice shadows.
On the concrete driveway by the old car
a heavy metal tool lands with a clank
as Father tries yet again to remove
a reluctant wheel from its axle
to replace a punctured tyre, muttering
aggressively at its dogged intransigence.
The rugby game broadcast from the
wireless beside the open dining room
window has only bad news from
his favourite team. He is not supposed
to swear when children are nearby.
His mood worsens.
We quickly move away to continue
our game at the end of the garden.