Little Pitchers

I heard you drank
And didn't stop for coal
To heat the porridge;

That as you passed
The windows
On the way
Disappointment stared back;

That a spaniel
Stalked your shadow
As you stumbled and wheezed
Over the heavy cobbles;

That you took issue
With the locked door
Severing a finger -
The one you said was lost
When a rifle backfired -

(And someone found
A splinter in the dripping
At breakfast);

That you fought
To score out
Her contempt
With your father's pen-knife,

But your boy
Stood between.

That, left at the Black Swan,
A couple of leverets
Lay reeking in a satchel
By the chimney breast.

I remember a nicotine swoosh
On a stump of knuckle,
A smell like
Barbecue sauce
And a voice that crackled
Like gunshot breaking
Across an autumn clearing.