‌On a tallow candle found in the loft

This tallow tale candle wax black Burnt when musty past folk

Then as fresh as orchard plums in pinafore white pockets of girls outside No. 4

Drew water at the pump just yards from Brian’s extension, his Nissan and his barbecue.

It looks like a turd!

Slipped by a passing pup on its way to sup at the pump trough

Scramble at the legs of the grubby boys leap up and crush the girls’ plums Run scared to Mum to wash the whites in biological stain remover

Not plum red but shit brown black A still sepia time, struck as shutters One click and you’re dead

These girls and boys have melted

Let’s light the candle and be done with it and them, before we get sad.

January 23, 2015