Herring Bones

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Herring Bones

Last winter, a heavy snowfall
toppled the garden wall.
Bricks and mortar now litter
the grass in untidy piles.

I take my child by an arm
and a leg and swing her round,
faster and faster till, dizzy,
she calls ‘no more’,
and I let her go.

She can hardly stand,
staggers like her grandfather
who lurches around the garden
leaning on a walking stick.

 He jabs at the red-brick wall
he wants me to rebuild
and claws,
with twisted fingers,
at words,
bricks laid
like herring bones
caught in his throat.

3 thoughts on “Herring Bones

  1. I had a comment almost finished and this *****blue machine heard it and it disappeared! All because I plugged it in when it became faint. See if I’m nice to this guy again! Okay, I was saying how much I like your poetry. And that with our first pretty day I left the building and feel a poem coming on, but tonight I wrote a soggy saga, and while I was gonna wait to write a worse one about little blue here I just might change my mind and try for some of the most insulting words I can think of. Imagine a machine deleting my immortal words! THE NERVE! Have a good one

    Liked by 1 person

      • Kidnapped huh? I’m just killing computers, tripping over my own feet and running into walls! Oh, almost forgot about the elevator doors! Tried to open them the hard way! Then took part of the facing off going through! And that was one of my better days! You want to be able to stand clear on my clumsy days.


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