Today, they're skateboarding in the car park
of the Magna Charta,
little runs and jumps, nothing flash,
a plank of wood over broken bricks,
wary of the man that one of them knows slightly,
who's standing at the side door in a cook's hat
taking great gulps of raw sunshine
before ducking back in for the next batch of chips.
Today, across the road in the field,
a rugby ball flops into the air
swinging half hearted between two boys
waiting for something to happen.
They watch the lads from the car park go by
half walking, half skating,
their boards seem attached to their hands on invisible string
and none of them notice the boys, half waving,
half throwing their ball.
At the bus stop the boards are propped against dark wood
where the names are dug in deep.
Inside, in deep shade, they lie back on the bench
taking it in turns to check for the bus
peering round their shelter,
glaring back at the sun.
© Rosie Garner
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