Winter RoundThe red jandals paper boy
two months on the run is still three sizes short of these tugboat shoes he slaps from house to house, ghost dog to ghost dog, the baying from the dark side of corridors and teeth swift needles at his sloes His brittle blonde tumbleweed hair winter skin scarecrow ankles and the puddle-soaked cuffs of his thin grey cords float above giant cherry paddles bought for him to grow into – if he doesn’t wrench the straps from the soles first, tripping t the tricky corner every day, over the adult lengths someone has taken to balance growth with debt. Emma Neale |