FORTY SEVEN

i shall not divulge my age

suffice to say 

i badly hurt my thumb while reading

i shall not divulge my age

suffice to say 

playing with a pound shop bubble wand 

on the weekday lawn 

gave me sufficient pause

i shall not divulge my age

suffice to say 

i become worryingly bothered 

with the realisation 

that i no longer own a ball of any kind

i miss the feel 

of a tennis balls weft 

that had previously 

been natural as summer sadness

i shall not divulge my age

its enough to say i sleep on it
& know that another day older 

& before dawn
i shall shop online 

for a tube of that 

nostalgic globular comfort

Photo by Kevin Mueller on Unsplash

OLD SCHOOL

i
remember
there was like a promise
in
the
cool
air
of those old school mornings

spring emptying out

the cut grass

a kind of freshness
of a town unwrapped

~

but 10 am lasted forever
and i felt trapped there
stranded and beached there

on 
a
grey plastic seat

behind
a
bubblegum desk

hand up for the bogs 

all 
the 
time

just to be alone

~

there was elation 
on the playing fields

freedom and space

scuffed shoes kicking
a dog chewed tennis ball

running and falling
there was always blood

and i remember
dirty bottles 
of sun warm
fall fat milk

monster munch crumbs
stuck
rounds
mouths
all day long

~

and the three pm bell
and the rush 
and bustle 
and buzz
of it being over

and the new reading book
and the new book mark

( cut from a donated greeting card )

turned into a heavy dread 
i was too young for

turned up blunt
down by the lavender bush

( scary bees & 
  ford cortinas
  vinyl roofs )

summer holiday ennui 
on the 
summer holiday lawn

i would hide
inside the trees

like
a
kid
in a story book

~

i remember
the autumn mornings empty blast

it fit like a coat

a parka
pen pockets
on the sleeve

i remember 
a kind of independence 
a kind of plastic calm
when after breakfast
i was putting out toast crumbs
for 
the 
birds

before school
fools
hormones
and
a 
nuclear winter

unfound savilles
on the bbc

from pinterest