A new poem, “Two-seventy”

I’ve been thinking a fair bit recently about the watchful approach that I have often taken to life, and wondering how much my family’s background as refugees has anything to do with that.  To try to sum up my thoughts, I wrote this poem, “Two-Seventy”:

Before I walk any course that’s ahead of me,
I always look left and right- two-seventy:
This life is sly: it’s a clever beast
That strikes from the side if you move too readily…
Two-seventy: watching my flanks,
If caution were cash, I’d have lots in the bank;
And I’ve got to thank my kin from Uganda
Who heard trouble singing in the wind of the savannah;
And who fled Amin, and fled Museveni –
In a past life, these feet knew jeopardy…
Legacy: two-seventy genes,
From a family of some very shrewd refugees:
Blessings mixed are these gifts from my past;
The nerves that preserve me, deter me from calm:
And so, I’ve a fox of a soul
As I slip through life’s net like a soft finger-roll

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