Slap of hand-me-down red wellies
on the backs of my bare legs
as I stumble over dried tracks on the cart-road,
struggling to keep up with my father’s march,
his stubbled jaw clenched.
I wince at a stone in my boot
but keep it to myself,
afraid that slowing him down
would be a sending-home offence.
*published in Other Things I Didn’t Tell