Poem of the week

Showing Me by Sam Gardiner

Both bicycle tyre tree and variegated
plastic bag tree are native to Nunsthorpe.
'Hello? Can I show you something?'
Can't be for me. A clear young voice
for someone else. I carry on wringing
the thread of the bolt that holds the filter
in place. Gothick vandalism, stray dogs,
drugs, 2,000 watt halogen security lights.
'Hello? Can I show you something?'

Easing my head from the bonnet I am
accosted by a girl aged 7 or 8
wearing a white calf-length T-shirt hemmed
with purple flowers, eager to show me
something. Conscious of the perils of accepting
favours from strange children, however angel-
like, I make a sort of non-committal sound.

Smartly she places a ball on the ground,
not quite football size, ringed with
a protruding rim in rainbow plastic. One foot
either side of this miniature Saturn
she begins to bounce. Careful, that's right.

And then, with a rope uncoiled from nowhere,
to skip, the rope slapping the footpath mid-
bounce. Sweet and supple inside
her too big, too white t-shirt she bounces
high, leaps higher with delight, hair flying,
arms turning, legs springing, showing me.

Happy that I've been shown, she winds down
cautiously to finish with a little hop.
'Lovely,' I tell her. 'You are clever.'
Suddenly shy, she smiles, hastily coils
her skipping rope and runs off with Saturn,
the dancing planet, tucked under her arm.

The air filter is no freer than before,
but the bolt is painfully de-threading itself.
High crime, low income Nunsthorpe,
the home of the five-lever lock and a fearless
innocence. With one last wrenching twist
the filter comes away, clogged with dust
and grime from better, more desirable places.