She likes the open window - optimistic and daring - her life is alive through learning.
To understand has become the pulse that cavorts her, the dance is always just beginning.
She laughs head back, wonders at the feeding birds, sings to travel time, takes the bus into the world.
With eyes closed, lines of light extend from her fingertips. She is aware of the order of things - madness is implicit, evil unacceptable.
Witch-knowledge, sunshine, a wizened face.
To understand has become the pulse that cavorts her, the dance is always just beginning.
She laughs head back, wonders at the feeding birds, sings to travel time, takes the bus into the world.
With eyes closed, lines of light extend from her fingertips. She is aware of the order of things - madness is implicit, evil unacceptable.
Witch-knowledge, sunshine, a wizened face.
a tHesis
Highly Humanoid cyber-academic -
you conducted
an ultrascopic investigation
incorporating multi-faceted analysis
into 'anthropocenic causation
in Cenozoic cessation'
with touching robotic flair
and unlimited solar energy.
How did it feel
- immersed in the universal seriousness
of your selected subject?
Did you feel bad at any point
standing back?
watching it unfold?
obviously
you Had the premonitive advantage
over those earlier guys.
you knew
the Hysterical demagogues
would fuck up -
shrivel stone
to ASH.
what a stroke of good luck -
without Homosapiens on earth
How much easier it was
to quantify
your conclusions.
Highly Humanoid cyber-academic -
you conducted
an ultrascopic investigation
incorporating multi-faceted analysis
into 'anthropocenic causation
in Cenozoic cessation'
with touching robotic flair
and unlimited solar energy.
How did it feel
- immersed in the universal seriousness
of your selected subject?
Did you feel bad at any point
standing back?
watching it unfold?
obviously
you Had the premonitive advantage
over those earlier guys.
you knew
the Hysterical demagogues
would fuck up -
shrivel stone
to ASH.
what a stroke of good luck -
without Homosapiens on earth
How much easier it was
to quantify
your conclusions.
Acacia
You have stolen everything from me. Through the window
I saw tiny fluffy yellow baubles on a tree.
What were they? What?
The breeze made them
tremble.
I held my breath
intrigued.
You wanted me so white so lovely
first touch
first kiss
first . . .
communion. Through old Victorian panes
the world
quivered.
Night,
the breeze has dropped.
They are an uninteresting dull jaune
I can’t see what I found
so mesmerising
just petite flowers
destined to be seedpods
as it was
and ever will be . . .
That Smile
It is instinctive to roll into a ball -
ribs try their best -
white bones
which snap and crack
like wishbone wishes on Sunday.
Her head has rolled
with punches.
Drunk with confusion
whiplash-ricochets
rebound the flashing fist.
Shiny scarlet beads be-dot
the lips a smile betrayed. I'LL WIPE THAT SMILE OFF YOUR FACE
Her hands
that shield her
skull
for untold hours soothed oil
into the toes and heels and soles
which leather-bound aim into her -
cold steel and lightning.
One handful of her hair
forms a bond
a pliant lever
- here to there and back again -
shouting.
Her slitted eyes become
antagonistic tiny mirrors punch + + + + +
. . . and there's the carpet
. . . soft like home
absorbing STUPID FUCKING BITCH
. . . can't speak I'LL TAKE THAT AS A YES
+ + + + +
It's dark in shock’s numb blanket -
minutes hours and daze.
When her brain catches up
terror finishes his babe
his girl
his lover
a bag of bones
which snap and
crack.
It is instinctive to roll into a ball -
ribs try their best -
white bones
which snap and crack
like wishbone wishes on Sunday.
Her head has rolled
with punches.
Drunk with confusion
whiplash-ricochets
rebound the flashing fist.
Shiny scarlet beads be-dot
the lips a smile betrayed. I'LL WIPE THAT SMILE OFF YOUR FACE
Her hands
that shield her
skull
for untold hours soothed oil
into the toes and heels and soles
which leather-bound aim into her -
cold steel and lightning.
One handful of her hair
forms a bond
a pliant lever
- here to there and back again -
shouting.
Her slitted eyes become
antagonistic tiny mirrors punch + + + + +
. . . and there's the carpet
. . . soft like home
absorbing STUPID FUCKING BITCH
. . . can't speak I'LL TAKE THAT AS A YES
+ + + + +
It's dark in shock’s numb blanket -
minutes hours and daze.
When her brain catches up
terror finishes his babe
his girl
his lover
a bag of bones
which snap and
crack.
DB and me
I know David Bowie -
he’d say let’s dance all evening
he’s a good friend of mine we’d drive around in cars
we go back years we’d rock ‘n roll
shared many beers and sock ‘n sole
he’s been there all the time pretend we came from Mars
a true friend those were the days with David
I would call him now we’re both a little worn
we met when I was 10 though we do agree
he was a little older a nice green tea
but it didn’t matter then beats staying up till dawn
he would tell me stories I saw him only lately
and dress up for a laugh he was looking very well
we’d stay up late for a while there
think we were great I was worried
he’d hang around my gaff but as far as I can tell…
he wasn’t scared of spiders he’s working on an album
and loved space just like me well he has to earn a crust
we did the drugs so we’ll meet up when
the whole shebang he’s next in town
set our inner heroes free and recall the old stardust
I wrote this some years before this hero was taken from us -
RIP David.
I know David Bowie -
he’d say let’s dance all evening
he’s a good friend of mine we’d drive around in cars
we go back years we’d rock ‘n roll
shared many beers and sock ‘n sole
he’s been there all the time pretend we came from Mars
a true friend those were the days with David
I would call him now we’re both a little worn
we met when I was 10 though we do agree
he was a little older a nice green tea
but it didn’t matter then beats staying up till dawn
he would tell me stories I saw him only lately
and dress up for a laugh he was looking very well
we’d stay up late for a while there
think we were great I was worried
he’d hang around my gaff but as far as I can tell…
he wasn’t scared of spiders he’s working on an album
and loved space just like me well he has to earn a crust
we did the drugs so we’ll meet up when
the whole shebang he’s next in town
set our inner heroes free and recall the old stardust
I wrote this some years before this hero was taken from us -
RIP David.
House by the sea
My true love built me a house by the sea
brought me ivory shells and a driftwood key
the plan was quite grand
for a house built of sand
and I lived there till sunset for free
BEECH COTTAGE Our house - a cob-wall castle on a hilltop island. Overnight rain overflows ditches Glistening Hart's Tongues swoon over banks. Wet-shine tree trunks stand guard over water-joyed muscovies Chickens mither and brood at no let up in the weather The fishpond hums and bubbles all fur has hid its head. Our house - lighthouse beacon haven home. Enter come. This thoughtful back-porch welcomes mud-slick wellies herds squelching socks comforts tearful raincoats pegs for everyone. Behind the kitchen door laughter and crackle imply a glow inside. The china tea set preserves etiquette fresh baked scones for everyone. |
The Sacrifice of Houseplants
I think he said he’d buy me gems and moonlight -
gross old cufflink - how could I stoop so low?
Honking mule tried doggie in my kitchen -
bastard! I have had no bliss from you.
Fumbling down the years (pretentious archive)
that thin old wire trying to break through
my hemisphere - an offering on the altar
my hemline smouldered - nothing white to prove.
This desert-dry betrayal of a houseplant
has clung on tight to thrusts for brand new shoes,
then grasped - under the aphroditean spotlight,
on oblong carpet - men who came with tools.
Mustn’t cry if musk-scent tongues get clumsy -
just another decade filled with red.
Exquisite fabrics shimmer as the flesh creeps
I own you bitch I think is what he said.
THE FEEL OF SUN
I can’t tell you
how it feels
to find sun
for the first time.
To discover
you’re a butterfly
stretching your wings
to bake dry
for the first time
living-colour intensifying
gold dust glittering
how can I say?
when a buzzard
spirals upward
upon a swirl of toasty air
sunshine cascading
its flecked back
free as free as free
I can’t tell you
how it feels.
I can’t tell you
how it feels
to be a dolphin
dappled underwater
by sun’s penetrating rays
to be propelled upwards
at speed you have created
to burst free of the sea
and hurl into the air
accompanied by a surf
of glistening diamond bubbles
and the laughter of
your closest loves
sun-kissed
transcendent.
I can’t tell you
how it feels
how can I say?
FISH
One day the ocean came knocking.
She opened the door expecting a dolphin
cheeky fun friendly
but a shark (whose dull blackboard eye poured through her)
entered.
Flipper’s chatter was not his style
sleek flashes of silver cutting silence.
At times (apparently without exertion)
he arrow-sliced through from front room to kitchen
- the electrical sensors she’d read about -
but this self-generated invisible energy
to move without moving
worked some magic on her.
He was elusive (unreachable it seemed) slept with both eyes open
sharkskin-chafed sheets tail beyond the bed-end.
His simplicity so complex so eonic cultivated awe in her.
His destiny so infinitely destined softened her. Putty.
When they said 'Walk-away! There’s plenty more fish in the sea'
she scowled at their fears with love-sick reasoning.
Who cares what they think?
They don’t know him like me.
They don’t see his steely reliability
consistency predictability.
They don’t understand him -
he didn’t choose to be how he is.
Wrapped around his stream-lined muscular body each night
he took her heart out with him on vast ocean dreams.
They would wash-up in her bed each morning
closer than ever not closer together.
Finally
she understood
what it was like
to move without moving
to have a spine which conducted pure raw energy
into every part of her body.
What scent meant.
How thrashing tooth-locked mechanics
could satisfy hungry ancient needs.
When they came to take him
she alone believed what she’d had -
torn to pieces bloody.
Dead -
like his eyes.
One day the ocean came knocking.
She opened the door expecting a dolphin
cheeky fun friendly
but a shark (whose dull blackboard eye poured through her)
entered.
Flipper’s chatter was not his style
sleek flashes of silver cutting silence.
At times (apparently without exertion)
he arrow-sliced through from front room to kitchen
- the electrical sensors she’d read about -
but this self-generated invisible energy
to move without moving
worked some magic on her.
He was elusive (unreachable it seemed) slept with both eyes open
sharkskin-chafed sheets tail beyond the bed-end.
His simplicity so complex so eonic cultivated awe in her.
His destiny so infinitely destined softened her. Putty.
When they said 'Walk-away! There’s plenty more fish in the sea'
she scowled at their fears with love-sick reasoning.
Who cares what they think?
They don’t know him like me.
They don’t see his steely reliability
consistency predictability.
They don’t understand him -
he didn’t choose to be how he is.
Wrapped around his stream-lined muscular body each night
he took her heart out with him on vast ocean dreams.
They would wash-up in her bed each morning
closer than ever not closer together.
Finally
she understood
what it was like
to move without moving
to have a spine which conducted pure raw energy
into every part of her body.
What scent meant.
How thrashing tooth-locked mechanics
could satisfy hungry ancient needs.
When they came to take him
she alone believed what she’d had -
torn to pieces bloody.
Dead -
like his eyes.
TEETH POEM
HUNGER
walks
the streets.
Teeth
fall
in
a
trail.
Will I live? (describe to me - DESIRE
Will I die? wake me - SLOWLY
Take me numbed
somewhere dumb
safe glue-eyed
stranger - bone-skinned)
there's a thieving rat
behind us,
on its back
a sack -
a collection
of pearls.
balloon woman
like a balloon
I hover over you
attached by a string
tied to your chair-back
unless you get up to play
in which case I can be let loose
and biffed from here to there
like a sock
I soften your every footfall
ensure your passage through this house
is unimpeded, cushioned.
no prickly word
that could have fallen from my lips
must pierce you
like a sun
I smile down upon you
benevolent
applaud each thought
each plan you dream.
all minor achievements
I make brighter,
stoke the
youthful heart you carry
in your ribs
like a pin
I hope to pop myself one day
laughing
crumpled
spent.
like a balloon
I hover over you
attached by a string
tied to your chair-back
unless you get up to play
in which case I can be let loose
and biffed from here to there
like a sock
I soften your every footfall
ensure your passage through this house
is unimpeded, cushioned.
no prickly word
that could have fallen from my lips
must pierce you
like a sun
I smile down upon you
benevolent
applaud each thought
each plan you dream.
all minor achievements
I make brighter,
stoke the
youthful heart you carry
in your ribs
like a pin
I hope to pop myself one day
laughing
crumpled
spent.
-
THE GARDEN
I am with Narcissus
(the Tigress is out)
He pullovers me
We are a waterfall of beanpoles
drizzled with windfall cherries
Amidst the damsons
two teenage greenfly
check a diagonal timepiece - PLENTY.
Wish-keepers of a collaged menagerie
we bramble headlong into a
taxonomy of recycled insects -
dishwasher beetles
pilot ants
secretary slugs.
Wistful fibs of fiction
flesh out jaunty parables - to he who saves the spider from drowning
may sun bless such avant gardening.
Slaves to the pyramid
of vacant snail-shells
daisy-chained by the ankles
all breath stolen by laughter
we have become
woodlouse whisperers -
fine diners of vegan patisserie.
Narcissus and I
high as high
smoke-ringed
mulched -
prey for worms.
THE GARDEN
I am with Narcissus
(the Tigress is out)
He pullovers me
We are a waterfall of beanpoles
drizzled with windfall cherries
Amidst the damsons
two teenage greenfly
check a diagonal timepiece - PLENTY.
Wish-keepers of a collaged menagerie
we bramble headlong into a
taxonomy of recycled insects -
dishwasher beetles
pilot ants
secretary slugs.
Wistful fibs of fiction
flesh out jaunty parables - to he who saves the spider from drowning
may sun bless such avant gardening.
Slaves to the pyramid
of vacant snail-shells
daisy-chained by the ankles
all breath stolen by laughter
we have become
woodlouse whisperers -
fine diners of vegan patisserie.
Narcissus and I
high as high
smoke-ringed
mulched -
prey for worms.
Ballinamallard
I want to get the train to Ballinamallard
to see Fofo one more time.
Her gilt-edged kidney dressing-table
with the fringed flowered drapes
the pictures of Swan Lake on her wall
the black cotton lady with button-eyes and
the big striped skirt to hide the toaster
the Old Country Roses tea-set
the manx-cat teaspoon in the cutlery drawer
the mantelpiece clock with all its columns
(like that place in Mary Poppins where the pigeon lady sold crumbs).
I want to smell the peat burn in the fireplace
taste her egg and tomato sandwiches again
(the tomatoes with their boiled skins removed)
feel the crackling sparks of her nylon sheets at bedtime
hear her whispering prayers at the side of the big tall bed
and try to hear my name.
But there is no train to Ballinamallard
and Fofo doesn’t live there anymore.
Ballad of the Breadman by the famous Cornish poet Charles Causley (1917-2003) tells a tongue in cheek story of the birth of Jesus set in the town of Launceston where Causley was born and lived most of his life. Here I write back to that wonderful poem and have some irreverent fun!
Ballad of the Bread Girl
Melly stood in the kitchen And Town Mayor Councillor Hogan
Defrosting a loaf of bread Knowing baby pics impress the hordes
When a cat came in through the window Pushed his way to be next to Ms Melly
‘I’m an angel,’ it blooming well said. And the new holy baby Ms Lourdes.
‘And you my friend are pregnant But outside a fuss and a ruckus
You’re carrying god above’s child.’ Alerted kind Stephen who said
‘Don’t be so bloody ridiculous - Melly slip out this backdoor with baby
I’m nearly 60,’ Mel cried. I fear there’s a price on her head.
‘T’was bad enough for me first time around Lourdes grew up and flew to Wisconsin
Unmarried and right up the duff A land where religion is thriving
If you think I’m doing all that again She claimed God had sex with her mother
You’ve another think coming - get stuffed.' Was arrested for Isis conniving.
‘But this is the child of the Almighty,’ ‘FFS’ she texted from Trumpworld
Said the cat with its eyes of ice blue ‘Everyone here is a knob’
‘And for some flipping reason I can’t understand But they used it in court to condemn her
God looked down at this earth and chose you.’ To prove that she was a nut-job.
Melly got bigger and bigger Melly, now ancient, grew desperate
The word ‘freak’ was bandied about She knew where this story was headed
Newspapers consulted psychiatrists She could never afford a top legal team
But a scan ruled the ‘phantom’ word out. It was everything she’d always dreaded.
The country was caught in a fever The electric chair’s current proved fatal
At the same time the baby was due With Lourdes pronounced medically dead
Melly headed to her polling station Her body was flown into Newquay
She did not want to leave the EU. And stored overnight in a shed.
But the baby decided that moment Melly arrived the next morning
Was its cue to head for the ‘door’ But awaiting her was a surprise
And Melly caught short had to stop in The Bell When the door opened wide there was no Lourdes inside
Where the baby was born on the floor. She couldn’t believe her old eyes.
‘It’s a miracle!’ cried Stephen the barman 'Good grief,' said the old girl, 'then maybe
As he posted his ‘selfie with god’ The child of god" thing was all true
'This isn’t god, it’s his baby,' puffed Mel I only made up all that cat-angel stuff
'and look, it’s a girl – very odd.' So I could still have a good screw.
Suddenly choirs of angels Now if Melly is stood in her kitchen
Surrounded Mel singing aloud And the next-door cat darkens her door
T’was the night shift from Ginsters and Kensey She gets out her new water pistol
A celestial pro-EU crowd. And gives fluffy angel what for.
Ballad of the Bread Girl
Melly stood in the kitchen And Town Mayor Councillor Hogan
Defrosting a loaf of bread Knowing baby pics impress the hordes
When a cat came in through the window Pushed his way to be next to Ms Melly
‘I’m an angel,’ it blooming well said. And the new holy baby Ms Lourdes.
‘And you my friend are pregnant But outside a fuss and a ruckus
You’re carrying god above’s child.’ Alerted kind Stephen who said
‘Don’t be so bloody ridiculous - Melly slip out this backdoor with baby
I’m nearly 60,’ Mel cried. I fear there’s a price on her head.
‘T’was bad enough for me first time around Lourdes grew up and flew to Wisconsin
Unmarried and right up the duff A land where religion is thriving
If you think I’m doing all that again She claimed God had sex with her mother
You’ve another think coming - get stuffed.' Was arrested for Isis conniving.
‘But this is the child of the Almighty,’ ‘FFS’ she texted from Trumpworld
Said the cat with its eyes of ice blue ‘Everyone here is a knob’
‘And for some flipping reason I can’t understand But they used it in court to condemn her
God looked down at this earth and chose you.’ To prove that she was a nut-job.
Melly got bigger and bigger Melly, now ancient, grew desperate
The word ‘freak’ was bandied about She knew where this story was headed
Newspapers consulted psychiatrists She could never afford a top legal team
But a scan ruled the ‘phantom’ word out. It was everything she’d always dreaded.
The country was caught in a fever The electric chair’s current proved fatal
At the same time the baby was due With Lourdes pronounced medically dead
Melly headed to her polling station Her body was flown into Newquay
She did not want to leave the EU. And stored overnight in a shed.
But the baby decided that moment Melly arrived the next morning
Was its cue to head for the ‘door’ But awaiting her was a surprise
And Melly caught short had to stop in The Bell When the door opened wide there was no Lourdes inside
Where the baby was born on the floor. She couldn’t believe her old eyes.
‘It’s a miracle!’ cried Stephen the barman 'Good grief,' said the old girl, 'then maybe
As he posted his ‘selfie with god’ The child of god" thing was all true
'This isn’t god, it’s his baby,' puffed Mel I only made up all that cat-angel stuff
'and look, it’s a girl – very odd.' So I could still have a good screw.
Suddenly choirs of angels Now if Melly is stood in her kitchen
Surrounded Mel singing aloud And the next-door cat darkens her door
T’was the night shift from Ginsters and Kensey She gets out her new water pistol
A celestial pro-EU crowd. And gives fluffy angel what for.
...and while on a Cornish theme what could be more romantic than the true story of the dashing soldier and Olympian who fell in love with Daphne Du Maurier? In 1931, Major Frederick Browning sailed around the Cornish coast after reading The Loving Spirit by Du Maurier. He loved the book and the coast so much he invited the lady to dinner on his yacht and romance blossomed - the rest is history.
A MAJOR PROPOSAL
My name is Major Browning
my friends all call me ‘boy’
I read The Loving Spirit
and had to come to Fowey.
Forgive my bold presumption
permit me please to say
The Loving Spirit moved me
I had to come Daphne.
I see now why you fell in love
with Cornwall and the sea
if the loving spirit moves you
would you fall in love with me?
Weave your fantasies around me
let us sail away
immersed in loving spirit
to find our Manderlay.
My name is Major Browning
my friends all call me ‘boy’
I read The Loving Spirit
and had to come to Fowey.
Forgive my bold presumption
permit me please to say
The Loving Spirit moved me
I had to come Daphne.
I see now why you fell in love
with Cornwall and the sea
if the loving spirit moves you
would you fall in love with me?
Weave your fantasies around me
let us sail away
immersed in loving spirit
to find our Manderlay.
Boat
I decided to wear his oilskins
down to the shore
to take their mind off things
let them feel the sun
and a few drops of rain as it happened.
My plan didn’t work
had the opposite effect
they just sat on the sand
stared out to sea
and cried.
One Cup
She follows his long shadow to the door
rests her hand upon his
on the handle.
The door pushes open and his smell surrounds her -
he is everywhere.
Breathing him in,
she understands why this is so familiar -
didn’t she rehearse it
in her mind
every day -
without telling him.
She fills the kettle to the first small cup.
She doesn’t hear the kettle click off
can’t remember pouring the water
taking the milk out of the fridge
or putting it back.
The floor stares up at her a long time.
There’s no taste to tea anymore.
She follows his long shadow to the door
rests her hand upon his
on the handle.
The door pushes open and his smell surrounds her -
he is everywhere.
Breathing him in,
she understands why this is so familiar -
didn’t she rehearse it
in her mind
every day -
without telling him.
She fills the kettle to the first small cup.
She doesn’t hear the kettle click off
can’t remember pouring the water
taking the milk out of the fridge
or putting it back.
The floor stares up at her a long time.
There’s no taste to tea anymore.
POST
Someone sends first class poems to my dog.
The postman delivers small booklets -
red black blue and orange,
the lettering large and clear
the easier for her to see.
She curls like a foetus
in a blue plastic bed -
3 layers of smelly rugs give
dog bones comfort. Her moist black
nose points into the prose.
She loves Carrickfergus -
‘the trees they do grow high.’
She has Irish roots herself
you know, but never raced,
just reads poetry.
Someone sends first class poems to my dog.
The postman delivers small booklets -
red black blue and orange,
the lettering large and clear
the easier for her to see.
She curls like a foetus
in a blue plastic bed -
3 layers of smelly rugs give
dog bones comfort. Her moist black
nose points into the prose.
She loves Carrickfergus -
‘the trees they do grow high.’
She has Irish roots herself
you know, but never raced,
just reads poetry.
A history of family illness
Mrs Cason's eldest son has asthma
'praise his fortitude' she says with pride
quiet as a mouse sits Peter, frowning
a young man nearly - not some little child.
Mrs Cason used to be a nursey
Mr C. is in the RAF
Peter’s younger brothers are both healthy
no spasmodic airways in their chests.
Father is away from home quite often
Peter has to play the manly role
this is when he often suffers asthma
and Mrs C. looks after him, you know.
Tender is the word to best describe it
Mrs C.’s ability to nurse
yet Peter, having one more of his nasty old attacks
in spite of her is getting worse and worse.
'Oh dear, dear,' said Dr John observing,
'I believe I see a pattern here.
Doesn’t this keep happening when your husband is away?'
Peter’s face turns ghostly pale with fear.
Mrs Cason's jawline sets quite rigid
- these young doctors aren’t a patch today -
imagine it, suggesting a disease could just appear
every time her husband is away.
Peter feels her hand upon his shoulder
as soon as they are out the surgery door
his mind is in a panic cause of what the doctor said
he decides not to have asthma anymore.
Next time Mr C. is on a mission
Peter hands the carving knife to Miles -
'it's time you had a turn at playing daddy,'
he meets his mother’s hungry eyes and smiles.
Mrs Cason's eldest son has asthma
'praise his fortitude' she says with pride
quiet as a mouse sits Peter, frowning
a young man nearly - not some little child.
Mrs Cason used to be a nursey
Mr C. is in the RAF
Peter’s younger brothers are both healthy
no spasmodic airways in their chests.
Father is away from home quite often
Peter has to play the manly role
this is when he often suffers asthma
and Mrs C. looks after him, you know.
Tender is the word to best describe it
Mrs C.’s ability to nurse
yet Peter, having one more of his nasty old attacks
in spite of her is getting worse and worse.
'Oh dear, dear,' said Dr John observing,
'I believe I see a pattern here.
Doesn’t this keep happening when your husband is away?'
Peter’s face turns ghostly pale with fear.
Mrs Cason's jawline sets quite rigid
- these young doctors aren’t a patch today -
imagine it, suggesting a disease could just appear
every time her husband is away.
Peter feels her hand upon his shoulder
as soon as they are out the surgery door
his mind is in a panic cause of what the doctor said
he decides not to have asthma anymore.
Next time Mr C. is on a mission
Peter hands the carving knife to Miles -
'it's time you had a turn at playing daddy,'
he meets his mother’s hungry eyes and smiles.