Two forests closing eyelids framed with lashes grassed,
Litter scatters the sun beating concrete like rose petals on a dusty bed.
Twist through the trees, leap over three empty graves,
Smiling through the hollowed.
Children scream with precious energy, clambering free.
Guardians stand ready with tired eyes and tired feet’s, a ready meal smile.
Pass through the boundaries of this far away land, right next door to
Grange primary school with pencil lined gated learning.
Track down the mud path, picking at the blackberries. Tiny fingers.
Dodge the nettles stinging for the sweetness.
The devil will spit on them all tomorrow.
Hurry. Hurry.
The juice bludgeons hands clothes, sticky sour taste.
Think on those continually impending winter moths
And the Christmas ice cream, sharp against strudel.
Wait! The green gate. Bromfords lies ahead.
Turn, run. Skip over the creaking crack.
Swing through and past and over the steel security tape.
Plastic Chinese tubs bouncing on our hips like babes
Patter pattering down Friern gardens
Checked purple shorts, visor held together with paint, string and stubbornness.
Beaming cheeks at out bulging bounty.
Can we go back inside now?
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