My Mother ON Kings Road

Golden Streaks of hair

reflected off from the sun

then dissolved

back into a strawberry auburn

when the sun was swallowed


Cranberry isles

Chilean raspberries,

an  embarrassed mango

picked up

as heavy as dust

feigning fear –

the prospect

of probably being eaten


She puts them back – reds and yellows

sliding down lengthy, lean fingers

you can hear nervous relief

a fruit cacophony –

The air feels calm

my hands tingle

from the moisture

of the clouds


I open my eyes

take my father’s arm,

the two of us smile

as we turn our way

down Chelsea Manor



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