whilst her fingers make an unbroken
run over the walls of our home:
You live in a strange world.
No bullet holes for my fingers
to play with. No blasted
holes to climb through
when playing hide and seek.
I say You get used to it.
My Grandad played on bombsites
In the fifties. The demolished
a lot.
She says, I love ruins.
Everything should be ruins.
© 2019, Paul Brookes
