Henri Cartier-Bresson
In the foreground, two boys with dirty faces
snub-nosed and unwashed,
are grinning wildly as they hug each other.
One is bare-footed, his elder brother
wears oversized boots without laces.
Both in ragged matching jumpers.
It is a sunny day, but cold.
A lamp post leans a heavy shadow
diagonally across the pavement.
In the background, the mother
pushing the large hooded pram
is muffled in headscarf and winter coat.
In black and white, the photograph
could have been taken in any street
in any industrial town not long after the war.
* * *
Fade in colour and movement.
The town in fact is Liverpool,
a September morning down by the docks.
After telling the Frenchman to fuck off
the boys, still laughing,
race each other down the cobbled street,
cross a bomb site and turn
into a jigger that runs between
the backs of terraced houses.
A seven-year-old boy,
unsure of his surroundings,
is taking a short cut home from school.
The boy in boots picks up half a brick,
his brother, a jagged piece of roof slate.
They close in on the stranger.
I give them all I have
A thripenny bit and a brand new pencil.
Fade out colour and movement.