Slip, I dipped on the
Trip to pink flamingos
Now my seventeenth number
Flip, I’m clipped on the
Strip of fairway gringos
In between the innocence & the heartache
What seems the green grass, the second class
The mother, the child, the both without a father
In their seven rowsStrips of once wild poppies
Nipped in bud, for the county flower show
Now my seventeen insecurities
Drip into my shattered mind
Rainy days; the sipped sour wine of impunity
In between the hazel & the hedgerow
What seems the pasture, swift past rapture
The other, the wild, the both without hope, rather
To be in the seventh seventeenth summer
Somewhere between home & away & eternity
Graveyards & birthplace; endless, timeless journey
Trips to pink flamingos
Stripped bare the fair play gringo’s; swathes
That wave, rave on - onwards sprinkled poppies
This poem didn't quite make it into the collection Rainbows On My Spectacles - Love Through a Lens
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