Envy on Emeralds.

[billy]

We picnicked on a cornucopia of grass that poured,
like emerald shards, into the water-lapped black
of Pickmere boating lake:
Two adults, playing happy family with seven
teen tearaways, though I was actually nine

Down the slope a small child of a few months
sits like a small Buddha on a red checked blanket
between the legs of an attentive dad
while under the watch an adoring mum.
They don’t see me feasting on them
They’re too busy enjoying the gurgle of garbage
spewing from the baby’s mouth.

A timid “time for home kids”
brings me to my senses.
I save the image.

lights go out…

Mum and dad set the picnic blanket
my eyes fix on a large group of yobs
further up the grassy slope.
and a smaller boy of seven or eight,
The boy stares longingly at my parents
I pretend not to notice.