Saviour, Monsieur Sidaner - Trudie Shannon

When child small, the lane
Was a deep, grey channel, a gauntlet to be run, save
When the old Frenchman with green hands and black beret
Stood on the hill high bank,
Tomato full greenhouses at his back,
To hold council in his somersaulting tongue,
Whilst we stood, the rescued,
Captivated by his rapid sing song
And the dance of his gesticulating hands.
The bullies always passed us by
When Monsieur held court
No taunts, no pushing, no shoving.
And we always stood together
His rapt, uncomprehending audience of two.
But we listened just the same
Awaiting the moment when
Those green leathery hands would
Proffer fruit for 'Maman'
Which they always did and we would take them, as we always did
Then scurry away in safety
Muttering and giggling Oui, Oui
All the way home.

Trudie Shannon