embers
without children the world would burn
in obsessions to fill out the hours
dear aunt elsie
thrice widow woven
veiled bete noire
she roams the streets for eleven o clock tea
to talk of hospital
whiskered chin
two small dogs
percival and ramielles
and my gran never let's her in
but will not bolt the door
so from my place
by the colouired bricks
I gauge my drift from cherub
to unlovely tackler on the rec
weaving through the guy fawked ashes
to plant between the jumpers
brambling victory leaves
they share black cats
end on end
dispute in details
birthdays jubilees who lived at forty three
while licked fingers
keep my hair in place
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