Here is the first 6PM
EDecember. Another Monday!
Early. Cold. Crisp. Black.
Firewood wrapped in newspaper
He drew love from his small body
Pig, running
Riding the crossbar
Self-levelling concrete.
He was breathing slowly.
I have forgotten my teachers
I have wrapped up the memories of my father
I taught myself to please him
I was all hers as we peeled potatoes
It's not the hens that matter, it's eggs
My father rode a horse, chasing gypsies
My mother sewed. I don't know what she thought about
One hundred and one tricks
Oxo
Children under, say, ten, shouldn't know
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