Fishtails. Mam and me,
Swim away from his slaughter
Of friends and neighbours,
Fall of Ash and mortar,
Taste of burning skin.
Not sure who me father is,
As me mam goes with owt
In trousers. Her first names
Promiscuous but folk, ‘specially men
call her Promise. She calls me Lust.
Me Dad could be Chaos or War.
Me mam’s been with both.
We’ve scarpered from Destruction
who clamours atta end on us all.
Mam and me lept into watta,
as fish tied together wi ship rope
So as we can’t drift apart,
tho ad be glad if we could
as ad like a life a me own
not chained to her,
and how can I tell her
am getting younger by the day.
Soon al be a bairn with a bow and arra
and tiny wings shooting me
arras off not bothered who they hit,
an consequences of giving folk
bits of mesen, so their bodies hanker
like me mam after owt with a pulse.
From forthcoming collection “Fish Strawberries”, Alien Buddha Press, 2019
© 2019, Paul Brookes