Young man with a backpack

This poem was published in Mc Dowell M. (Ed.) 2011. Other People Other Worlds. Belconnen: Scribbler's, page 98.

We stepped down from the bus, and my partner

said hello to a handsome young man

with a face that looked vaguely familiar

as my partner called him by name.

And so I was reintroduced to

this teenager with the backpack

crammed with library books for his assignments

as I started remembering back

to the time when this youth was a baby

before years became months became hours,

when we walked our young dog every morning

admiring the houses and flowers

and the father would carry the baby

with the black-haired mum running behind

still packing the bag with the bottles

and ticking off things in her mind.

Time passed; the dog aged and got stiffer

and her muzzle was covered with frost.

She walked much more slowly beside us;

roads had to be carefully crossed.

Sometimes when approaching the lane way

with the winter air sharp as a knife

we'd see the child, holding the hand of

the man, and his beautiful wife

still running behind on stilettos

with the bag stuffed with things for the creche.

Soon the small boy could carry his school bag,

mum, her purse; dad was left with his case.

The faithful dog sickened and left us,

we lost sight of the family, and years

became months, became hours became minutes.

We thought that they'd all disappeared.

Then only today at the bus stop

was the tall, handsome youth with the pack

who will soon begin medical studies

and I found myself harkening back

to those mornings that time changed so quickly

and the images that still remain

as my partner remembered the family

and called the young man by his name.

© Hazel S S Hall

22 Feb 2011