Mike Bell/ August 17, 2021/ 0 comments

There – that cool scent
of dusk’s breaths – her
command of my hours
as a child [back before
dark] – Among bracken

& slicing thorns lives a
recall of auld torments –
of a childhood under it
all – buried alive below
scrapes & thumps from

others – sharp tongues
cut skin – bruises strew
mud-dark shadows – In
afternoons boots were
filled up in treacherous

ditches – left to drip dry
before returning to that
tongue lashing at home
& stripped off on a step
‘cos you’re wet through

Share this Post

Leave a ReplyCancel reply