Red Rucksack

It’s lasted well,
his red rucksack.
Zip often strained to bursting
but not bursting.

Thin and light when empty
bulky and heavy as he
jogs and it bobs
down our road and
across the field
to school.

And such a comfort
the brilliant red of it.
I see it as a small
scarlet blur
crossing the school yard
safely arrived
unaware of my gaze.

It has lasted well
but its days are
numbered now.
Big school beckons.
The new cool black bag
already waiting in the hall,
making the old look
childish and small.

I wrote this poem (and took the photo) when my son was about to start secondary school seven years ago. I’m posting the poem now because my son went to his secondary school Leavers’ Assembly yesterday, and when his exams are finally over on 18th June his school days will be over too. He is about to start a new chapter of his life – hopefully at university.

And it seems scarcely two minutes since I watched his red rucksack bobbing along as he jogged towards his last day at primary school.