24th February 2020

pelting rain
the great mudslide of garden
drunken ladies

© Rachel Green 2020

Aunt May
made me a blanket of crocheted wool
I kept for years
draped over her old wicker chair
in a corner of my bedroom.
Her Bromsgrove garden was forget-me-nots
and severely clipped rose bushes;
ants under the loose paving slabs
while she and Dad talked
every other Sunday.
Her house was dark, post war values;
no television
just an old carriage clock
ticking, ticking
presiding over the stewed tea
and slices of Battenburg;
the roar of Dad's motorbike
still ringing in my ears.

 © Rachel Green 2020