Anciently perfect, you pointed to the hole in your woollen sock
Asked me whether I could darn? Darn it I can’t!
My young fingers couldn't manage such an intricate task.
Instead, I examine the dust on your navy-blue shoulders and wonder
Do you think Calliope would at all mind
If I also give her a spin one day, with my amateur offerings?
Rife with Whooping cough I am whisked off to a Holiday Inn
‘Mr Men’ wine gums were waiting on the bed for me
Next morning, grey gowned, I find a knotted silver chain in my pocket.
Later that day, a collection of mourners stand around as you are lowered
I watch them, bewildered and too say goodbye,
Just as I pluck the newly disentangled jewellery from my dress.
For J.D.C Pellow
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