Satchel

On the first day back, your new Satchel
Was the talk of the class, slate gray,
Strewn over one shoulder, double weight,
With all the lock and spin of a swivel on-edge
When you could no longer take the pull.
And Stephen Wallace in your ear, pushing
Questions of shop stores, floor courts
And the trip to Dublin with your parents
Where the attaché was found at the back
Of McEvoys leather shop, 'Straight
Off the ship from the States, fine stuff.'

And to think of you now fifty years on
Could send a shiver through me; a dark river
Without tributary or offshoot, the steel
Of your bootcaps kissing side streets,
Silver saxophone at your side and the gray
Sack strapless, emptier now than it was
When time gave more than it took away.