| NOW THEN you sang softly, when I was a sleepy child: "Down at the station..." wie ma wellies tecked awa in, an ma faither's faither's bunnet on, till I closed my eyes to dream of now... Now? I know everyone's dyin' only, you're dyin' faster, eh? My chromasones are on full alert. At least those which you could claim with fingerprint truth are reminders of your own black and white childhood. Where I stood in Howard Park, in shorts, knee high grey socks, pocket full of marbles... staring at the empty cinder pitch from the fenced off swings and roundabout. Even then, I knew that deep scar on your knee, where I'd sit and fall to sleep dreaming of a prodigal now. |
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