At The School Gate                                                                                                    

I thought I had done with this.
Waiting at the school gate
for the next generation
of slouching, bag humping,
coat dragging delinquents
to be freed their prison of words.
Here they come. Jumpers
loosely tied around waists,
shoelaces perpetually undone.
Shadows of the past
shuffling towards their future.

Their jailor will be here soon
to undo the rusty lock,
freeing their minds and legs.
Will they climb trees, scrump apples?
Build gambos out of pram wheels
guided by rope and luck?
Slide down coal tips on cardboard sheets?
Sadly no. Computers rule OK.
Turing has much to answer for.
As I stand here at the gate
I ruminate on what's in store.