Ice cream van

Dinosaur wellies
Stomping the park puddles
Familiar green shapes
Immortalised in
Rubberised plastic
Formed from crude oil
As if forged from the
Fossilized bones of
Long dead ancestors
Reincarnated
As protectors of
Juvenile feet
Roaming freely
Through marshy ground
Wild as once before
Roaring early displeasure
At competition for
Territory
A chance to slide
Through mud
Young pitted against young
Tooth and claw
Fighting to be first
To feed

A fighting inheritance

Give me strength, my father cried
I as a child, of course, complied,
And to his will, this willow bent,
Not understanding discontent.
But now I’m grown, his mood I ken,
I ‘get’ the strops of gentle men:
Dissatisfied with what they’ve got
Yet little work to change their lot.
I hope in future my own kin
Will know enough, not let me win,
But challenge me in time of need
And push to overcome my greed.
I know myself, I know my power,
Yet hope my kids upon their hour
Of struggle, mine will overcome
That they may triumph, have some fun.
And in old age, their wisdom find,
Choosing then to know their mind.
Not seeking ever-young to stay,
But give the youth their precious day.