was it so grave

was it so grave

mammy

had a scar like a crocodile 

from the tin works

before the war

now

on which arm

which arm was it on

i cannot remember

but i remember the slaps

and the legs they landed on

and the tears

laughing leads to crying

she said ??

times were hard

the scar never went

it wasn’t peter pan’s crocodile

it was from two clips either side of a gash

she told me of the leather aprons 
in the pickling shop where men died 
in the tin works 
they turned green

told of the bombers 

and the air raid shelter under the furnace

for they were not crocodile tears

that she shared in the slaps

spare the rod 

and spoil the child

play was so hard we laughed until we cried

when the blood dried on our knees 

that the snuffled tears had smeared

we laugh at the scars now

the hurts were life in the making

when the scars heal they bury them

they bury them deep

six feet deep