Ewan’s father and friend
Two boys
Thirteen, maybe
Fourteen,
Stand smiling from a sepia photograph.
Similar in so many ways;
Both wearing smart, dark blazers,
Cricket whites and plimsolls,
Both anticipating the game ahead,
A life yet one fifth run.
Yet, there was a difference,
Even then.
One was taller, darker haired;
The other fair,
Broader in the shoulder.
And when they went to war
Scarce five years thence,
One was killed,
One became my father.