Watching ghosts

I came here
just to watch the ghosts play.
In this grey autumnal rain.
I can almost see your movement
in the mist.

You were smaller then
and I was larger to you all
in every way.

We walked here often.
One, perhaps, would hold my hand
another on a trike,
others running on ahead.
Everywhere we went
we were a crowd.

We spoke, we watched;
we wandered in the lands
of nonsense and imagination.
There were always leaves to kick
or puddles to splash
or tales of school to tell.

Now I am here alone.
Leaves lie unkicked.
The rain plays rhythms on the metal roof,
the windscreen mists with breath.
Waterdrops meander down the glass, tears for a lost world.

Now I am smaller in your lives
and missing all the intimacy
fatherhood once brought.

I am lonely,
watching small ghosts playing
in the dim light;
wishing I could join them for a while.

(c) A McN