Shorts

Shorts.

Mew.

There's a dead cat on chip paper,
Ten steps from St Thomas' school.
Bulging eyes in the rain-soaked head
Alone on a paving slab.

Morning Soup.

People like Rainbow Drops
Trudge from shop to bus,
Lunchbox heavy
Drenched in Alka-Seltzers.

Slumber

I used to go to bed
Before the Sun rolled down,
Wrapped in gentle sleep
Breathing quiet sighs.

Risings

The yolky Sun
Has more rooms to wash than mine
But rests upon my bed as
a pillow-hugging friend.

Snapshots.

Confetti-shaped
Bits of ourselves
We harbour and replicate.

Teaspoonfuls of memories
Sifted through years,
Cookie-cuttered and cluttered
behind drooping eyes.

Circus.

A year old,
Crying on an Elephant
The world grew small
From Giraffe heights.

Brothers.

In the Bluesy, Bluesy heat of summer
At the old, old house
High up the rickety black back gate
Two brothers push out Pigeon chests
Lips framing awkward grins.