I am six when people first begin to stare –
a boy in man’s clothing,
children leaping in my footsteps,
kite-tailing across the beach.
The mothers stand in doorways, trill
He must wear his father’s shoes!
What height will he reach full grown?
We leave a single track.
At ten I anchor the village team
at tug of war. Then I join father
on the boat, learn to haul creels,
he says I am worth three men to him.
The Whit Fair waltzes in
with whispers of the Show of Freaks.
The catch is bad. There is a curse.
My father’s jaw sets firm.
That night, I see mother trawl her brow.
At low tide, she takes my hand and we walk the causeway to the friars.