(don’t fall, ma said)

It was an ordinary spring.

The grass grew thick outside my window.

Grandpa unzipped the army sleeping bag, and spread it on the lawn.

He listened to the test cricket scores, hum on a small battery radio.

Gran-in-durban shelled the peas, an enamel basin on her lap. She looked up at me, quizzically, through her pointy reading glasses.

Behind her the sprinkler twisted its copper hip across the vegetable patch - carrots and lettuces, blinked