It is a twenty four hour refresher course in education
for the parentally recidivate; its instructors behave in
time-honoured ways never forgot - and how can one
write-off those experiences without loss of identity, -
that essential veneer, the one which survival briefing
& reprobates post-course revival refers accurately to
as grandparental affectation for things ‘family’ being
too hard to shuffle-off for a bit of ‘peace and quiet’
Alright, the tensions real enough to wipe away years
of drought in a fractal randomness, but it was always
hinged to whom you thought you were, and teachers
confirm it in a moments embrace - they don’t say - or
hint at, a case of where you fitted least; its merely an
idea you’d best espouse what they say here & now
And so they move on again, are entrained to another
destinations way-point of growing up; and in that gap
there’s silence, perhaps relief, yet ostentation leaves
eerie emptiness already echoing with memories of a
dessert-sweetness after the main course - yes, we’ll
see them again, & well before they cease to teach
© 14 April 2015, I. D. Carswell
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