snowdrops
scattered around the woodland
morning mud
© Rachel Green February 2024
my father's nose
was red and bulbous,
shot through with broken veins
and perpetually dripping
from his constant outdoor work.
He used old sheets
ripped up into foot-sized squares
and daily handkerchiefs
and they would appear in the washing basket
stiff and crusted after use.
Mine was just like his;
extra large and Roman shaped
like an English Bull Terrier
until so many schoolyard fights
broke it three ways from Sunday.
© Rachel Green February 2024
No comments:
Post a Comment