Gravel Voices
Gravel Voices
Jean’s gravel route,
no different to ours,
just an over-the-road
distance.
Trodden, it sounds like
a pre-school shaker,
the one the lucky kids
were given.
Step-fade-step,
across her driveway,
whilst our one,
a road width closer,
is louder recall
of kid-invaded,
beach steps,
when shingle slid
into the curled
picnic rug’s weave,
as our burnt parents
pebble-pinned it all.
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