COBWEB ELBOWS

i worry
that memories
may degrade
with each needy use

like a favourite jumper

already skeined thin

at its cobweb elbows

& i worry i dont 

husband them enough

like maybe

i should be

~

but still

the fallen garden apples

gone sweet with rot 

& all the flies there

conjure crystal 

childhood moments

of paddington ringer t's

& moccasin slippers

gone slippy & shiny underneath

& still 

the supermarket shower gel

of jungle & sport & sage 

mirrors those mornings long ago

when things

were different

enough to count

SOUND FILE VOL 6

 

shower gel smell

& bbq smoke

summer / people are coming

the pavement holds on

to the days infra red

& neighbours 

  overlong 

  goodbye 

  shouting

  taints 

  my

  pre-dusk reverie 

~

smell of hot metal

oven been on for hours

that was sunday at nans

laughter & a chair short

clock chimes church bell tune

on the mantlepiece tile

for one hundred years