When a nine year old
Cooks in your kitchen
And you write poetry
I look at her face
And discover a theme

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My mod upbringing

on shingle,
pretending to be Jimmy,
in the town where the mods go
while dad pranced
and mum saved souls,
salt and seaweed made me.

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Dad and the third man

I could watch Orson Welles speak all night long,
and do, in those deep gravelly sketches I see my dad
and me and light on Harry Lime.

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one blue egg in
an abandoned
I stand in front of
my childhood home…

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The Future

Wearing the mask
Of childhoods past
The future is here
What you hold dear
Is not its concern
It comes to burn

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Do you remember
the garden of childhood
when the sun always shone,
the days were so long
& we thought Winter
would never come.

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when you’re a kid
everything is big
and new and full
of possibility
but then it slows
until nothing #moves
and who you are
is what you are
just slowly

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