Been
climbing trees I’ve skinned my knees
My hands are black the sun is going down
She scruffs my hair in the kitchen steam
She’s listening to the dream I weaved today
Crosswords through the bathroom door
While someone sings the theme-tune to the news
And my sister buzzes through the room leaving perfume in the air
And that’s what triggered this.
I come back here from time to time
I shelter here some days.
A high-back chair. He sits and stares
A thousand yards and whistles
Marching-band (Boom-ching)
Kneeling by and speaking up
He reaches out and I take a
Massive hand. Disjointed tales
That flit between short trousers
And a full dress uniform
And he talks of people ten years
Gone like I’ve known them all my life
Like scattered black ‘n’ whites….
|
|
|