after Willi Ronis

 

A small boy running, but not for his life,

as all can see in his fearless smile

and the sense of freedom

 

that lights his eyes. This is the day

he will always remember,

important only because of an errand

 

and the small coin he didn’t drop,

holding it up on tiptoes

across the counter of a baker’s shop,

 

disregarding for once

the glass-fronted shelves of pastries

laid out on a lower level.

 

The still warm, unwieldy baguette

stowed beneath his arm,

he races homewards. 

 

At his feet his shadow,

foreshortened, inscrutable,

can only just keep up, one step behind.

 

Shape-shifting, a demon,

it seems momentarily a cat –

its back hunched, its dark pelt bristling.