where were you when i was kind

9 December 2020

He leans back on wooden chair
crimson with murmuring
firelight reddening thins
of cabbaged ears bright
cheeks porous to the cave-like warmth, still
bellows exhume tonically:
 two Omeprazole

Old eyes faded blue as
veins meandering rice-paper arms he
blinks and stories
rise: twelve years and strapped car-wise on a Saturday
guffawing glassed father staring
through windscreen white fogged intensity.
  you don’t know it

his scars still
shine undermoon and his hair didn’t
always sit curled with shame
or fear; and you’ve never seen his right
arm but maybe he’s just sensibly
modest. you lean back as
he leans outward unwound
window to pastel-coloured crowds
and patent-leather in domed shadow yells
     where was god in
                                    the death

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