The morning began in heat, watching the car pull up, with a mother of two,
announcing that she was coming to class, taking badminton girl’s place.
It was pleasing to me, of course; by the table, she began to tell me something new
of her life here, the light gold-brown hair, gauzy pink lips enhancing the grace
of trim, elegant colour body, high-quality legs, the brief white shorts accentuating
the contour and area; she told me the anger at the erosion of schooldays here,
with going to other classes, in a sick, comprehensive way, the result incubating
the destroying of the fabric of a good education, blowing away a tear.
There is to be no lounging around doing nothing when both girls are away in wage,
just a few years from now; I told of the German group, in Atbara on a train coach
many years ago; getting on, the woman thought exploring the rough earth at their age
better than being at home, watching the TV and weak time encroach,
but back to here, to the point… I enjoy watching the warmth of her mouth, but maybe
can detect a certain imperfect melancholy with what has happened, growing to take
up residence to annoy at the back of her eyes, to tell of the heartache of the key
that put a break on migrating to a pasture congenial, with no bigot or uproar to break.
