Belt
One day I asked
about his back
He was one of the
travellers, long
tough, sinewy, a body
of knotted rope
bunched and stretched
beyond its 14 years
Long raised lines ran
pale along it, bared
in the thin sun
He told me
they were scars that’s all
I pressed, where from
When I was younger
I got the belt
and
he made a movement
with his arm
A wind caught the
backs of my legs
I didn’t
ask anything else
He covered himself
picked up the ball
We’d smoked together
a few times
I suppose I thought I was
escaping from
something
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