Dog days and wildflowers

Dog days and wildflowers

Tumble me down

Through the dog days,

Old tin roofs

Sagging under their own weight

Rust covered impressions

Corrugated sheets

Deathbed confessions.

There’s a hole in the bucket

Dirty handprints

On peeling paper

Fresh from digging

Through old lives,

Freed spirits

Seeped into hallowed walls.

Blessed are the ghosts

Of recollection

An old pink dress

Tied up with string

Stuffed into an armchair

Its guts spilling out onto the parquet

Killing floor.

Lamb shanks and chicken legs

The smell of an open fire

Burning split logs

On a rainy day

Kitchen encounters

Dusted in flour and dough.

A warm oven and an inglenook

Between broken bricks

Where promises were made

As often as wishes.

When children went to bed

As warm as toast

Until the fire died

And winter brought the truth home

With a final demand.

The house of cards

Collapsed back,

Tumbled down

Into a humdrum jungle,

Long dead skeletons

Dog days and wildflowers.