Saturday, 6 October 2018

Fraughts napping

Fraughts napping 

Does my cat ponder why i speak?
Does she long to reply?
Or does she see how my words creak,
spittled on rusty hooks and hanging to dry?

And the tattoo of the old songs;
why do I find my eyes 
smarting under skylark skies;
full of tears as I run along.

How the sixties pulled away from
the spent bubblegum fifties,
beyond the remorse of war,
a zany decade, was permitted.

Pasties asked of the pub side door,
it’s light beaming onto the dark
village, with its slag-stoned streets, 
where the snow was settling on a
childhood, once and for all.

Hooks and worms, the fisher boy,
with his rod and reel might
catch himself a summer’s day,
to fry on a long and wintered night.

For every time I fall asleep,
these memories creep;
in a child’s shawl
I leave today and crawl
back home again;
O Mammy, Mammy please,
do kiss away this pain.

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