Deep Warrior

I walked

down to the shop

yesterday,

in the sun.

Two small boys

had littered the pavement

with toys

and drawings.

One looks at me,

eyes and mouth open,

an orange pen held

momentarily

from his lips,

saliva and ink smeared across his cheek –

his mother approaching with a cloth.

The other

a little way off

a little older

stands

one foot mounted upon his scooter,

head-dressed,

weapon in hand.

He has climbed

a castle of roots

by the tree,

daffodils blooming among them.

I step to

skirt around him.

He sees not me

he is in Deep Warrior.

As I pass,

I trigger

 a burst of energy

in his dangerous chest,

he throws his head back

and thrills the air

with his fearsome war chant.