I wanted to keep on the shepherd
dressing gown and banded tea towel
and be seen like that in the album,
not in my Sunday best like Rob
with his jacket and his covenantor badge
or Chris with her bow and pink tartan dress.

Rob discarded Joseph readily.
Chris cast aside the angel.
Rob’s hand on her shoulder
like the best of friends
for once, caught with their eyes closed.
‘How smug!’ I thought.

There would have been room –
off-centre as they stand, by the fence.
I was looking out from behind the curtain
with a feeling of -, a feeling of –
it’s coming back as I look at the picture again –
after the tears. At least I was not smug.

(written for Abingdon Share a Poem December 2023 – theme childhood)