July 1969

One small school is gathered for assembly

in the sun-freckled shade of the chestnut tree.

Sister Bernadette, haloed by the sun

like a statue of the Virgin, says Class One,

just like the men who have walked on the moon,

will take their own small steps soon.

They will not return to skewer conkers

from St Joseph’s tree, but, come September,

step up to St Andrew’s or the grammar.

Except Michael Sullivan who will never

grow into his too-big blazer, unworn

in an unopened wardrobe. Picture his step

from behind the ice-cream van, like the boy

in the road safety poster: frozen, poised.