12th October 2024

 

bright spot

where the sun used to be

post-office van

© Rachel Green October 2024

Oh Mother, make the biscuit that you made when I was wee

it was before I became seven and was for my birthday tea

it was supposed to be a chocolate cake but you forgot the yeast

you also left out chocolate in your haste to make the feast.

Instead of flour you chose to add the ground-up bones of Nan

whose ashes in the cupboard were kept safe inside a can;

you didn't have brown sugar and used heroin instead

prob'ly just as well you'd made the local dealer dead.

In place of eggs to bind it all you added eye of newt

and mixed it in a sack you made from Daddy's favourite suit.

You baked it in an oven in a hollowed-out dog's head

and finished it with sprinkles shaved from soldiers made of lead.

I wish I had the recipe you bequeathed me, dear Ma,

this pleasant police officer has just asked me where you are.

© Rachel Green October 2024