The sadness of this world lies in the fact that we seem to see the worst motive in the most innocent act. I see here a man taking a moment to enjoy the sights and sounds of kids and remember his own childhood before he is reminded abruptly of the spectre of paedophilia and suspicion.

Summer kids.
Lionel J Anthony



The kids come out
Like a splash in a summer pond.
Sparkling, laughing back at the sun.
And I feel once more that flagstone yard
Hard beneath my pounding feet
Hearing again voices long forgotten
David Bell, Stewart Roberts
Johnny McNamara, turned
To unwritten pages in a book
Of lives.
Where are they now?
These kids are just the same,
Each boy today’s hero
Or football star.
The girls, miniature mums
Mindful of their status and
The stars. Where ‘coni’ **
Is something not to be.
I listen to the peculiar echoes
That only unformed voices
In a school can make
And I am lost in reverie
In a beautiful world where death
Is ‘count to fifty’ and everyone wins.
Your school, your world, innocent
Unsullied,
Is within a comfortable
Narrow horizon.
Safe.
A knock upon the window brings me back.
And I stare into cold blue eyes.
“We’ve had a complaint. Car near a school.”
Fabergé’s egg is crushed, the pond is mud
Avoiding round eyed wonder through the railings
Feeling dirty, scarred.
As the radio is busy. He returns
“Sorry about that, can’t be too careful.
Here’s your papers” The eyes are not so cold,
Quite gentle,
For one who has destroyed a world.

**coni - sartorial faux pas where the shirt (or blouse) collar is worn outside the sweater of a school uniform.
= "Collar out not in."