The time, according to the dandelions,
is half past summer and my dinner waits -
sausage, mash and beans - a feast for schoolboy
princes, already full of 7-Up
and sherbet dab...
... This is, of course, a scene
framed by the gold glow of 9-carat
reminiscence. My mate Johnny stamps down
on a plank of wood and gets a rusty
nail right through his foot. Linda is knocked down
by a milk float in silent, stealth reverse.
I play hide'n'seek and take a foolish
leap into a crater full of nettles
that camouflage a nest of broken green
bottles. We still pick scabs from dirty knees.
Comments
chuck | June 2, 2009 - 15:56
You deal with the downside beautifully WilkyBarKid.
lenchenelf | June 2, 2009 - 18:12
...and how, at the time, the scabs became a source of fascination and wonderment, almost a badge of honour. I remember all too vividly a nail through my thin plimsolls, attaching me firmly and painfully to a discarded ceiling beam while building a den in a friends garden. :-) Thank you atb Lena
Ewan | June 2, 2009 - 19:38
Skint knees and sausage,mash and beans, Everyman's childhood in a few verses. Lovely.
Ewan