Boy with satchel.

Inky–fingered boy,

Always last,

Always late,

Squatting on his bag

Outside the school gates,

Huddled up

Against the gathering dusk,

Counting the cars

Waiting for the one

That never comes,

Not this one

Or that one

Nor the next one

But the Next One!

But after a hundred

The counting stops.

He pulls himself to his feet

Picks up the bag

And that’s it.

A boy

Walks back  

In the dark.

Disappointment

Scarred

Into his little pink heart.

JCS  29/11/09