Hide and Seek
Call out.
Call loud: ‘I’m ready! Come and find me!’
The sacks
in the toolshed smell like the seaside.
They’ll
never find you in this salty dark,
But be
careful that your feet aren’t sticking out.
Wiser not to risk another shout.
The floor
is cold. They’ll probably be searching
The bushes
near the swing. Whatever happens
You mustn’t
sneeze when they come prowling in.
And here
they are, whispering at the door;
You’ve
never heard them sound so hushed before.
Don’t
breathe. Don’t move. Stay dumb. Hide in your blindness.
They’re
moving closer, someone stumbles, mutters;
Their words
and laughter scuffle, and they’re gone.
But don’t
come out just yet; they’ll try the lane
And then
the greenhouse and back here again.
They must
be thinking that you’re very clever,
Getting
more puzzled as they search all over.
It seems a
long time since they went away.
Your legs
are stiff, the cold bites through your coat;
The dark
damp smell of sand moves in your throat.
Its time to let them know that you’re
the winner.
Push off
the sacks. Uncurl and stretch. That’s better!
Out of the
shed and call to them: ‘I’ve won!
Here I am!
Come and own up I’ve caught you!’
The
darkening garden watches. Nothing stirs.
The bushes
hold their breath; the sun is gone.
Yes, here
you are. But where are they who sought you?