A Colouring Book

<Audio>

A peacock-tailed village fast astride the valley side.

Marinade of young in old folk's coloured flavour.

Perambulating in back bush thoughts,

knee-grazed and child-eyed, with

mufflered men garrulously fag-bent and pint-ward.

Women, scarfed linoleum bright,
shine from cold-coloured rooms,

door-stepped inward/outward facing in schism minds,

scolding the short-trousered ragamuffins in their daring do.

For the transfusion is complete upon the handshake 

of understanding of what lies there, therein. 

The village slag-inked and line-hatched by 

transient-handed generations in sleep and step,

until the morrow weaves another peacock feather

into the nest of next time in mind.

Or so they whisper.