The Day

We cycle over beech nuts,

He points out our breath.

columns of sunlight

shining through the changing trees

and the damp-heavy river smell.

I'm worried about today's 

spelling and times table tests - 

I struggle with witch and which.

We practice my sixes and eights 

as we pedal past cloudy-faced kids

and parents.

He helps me across

the busy road, laughs at the

grumpy caretaker who sighs

and swings his keys as he lets the morning masses 

pass through the gates.

I put my bike

in the bike shed.

He kisses me 

tells me not to worry about stuff.

I love you, have a good day

see you later, kidda. I'll be here

at half three. Good luck. 

I wave through the window

as overhead a plane is coming in to land. 

He pushes his bike through playground puddles

and turns to blow me one last kiss.

Puts on his helmet and adjusts the strap.

And it's five years later

and he never came back.

© Matt Goodfellow, from Bright Bursts of Colour, Bloomsbury Education, 2020