Archive
Recessional
Everyone’s on promotions now —
bogof, twofers, reduced for quick sale.
It’s what we war babies always did —
scoured for bargains, secreted pleasures.
An inheritance of thrift became habit,
even in later soppy days of plenty.
I splurge on things never then imagined —
books, music, a house to hold all,
education for the children, ambitions
grafted on totipotent lives, a plastic future.
by Colin Will
Cabbage Water
Dry earth spits dust, puffballs release spores,
tiny brown smokes. I remember hearing
the first welcome rattle on cabbages,
how the waxy leaves grew globes
of magnifying water, each with a dazzle
just above the lower margin. I looked
for the sunsource, found it in a patch
of brighter sky.
Hated the childhood flavour, love it now
with butter, pepper, caraway,
allied to lamb and potatoes, and later
a double-glazed lie-down,
a watery recollection.
by Colin Will
:: 
:: 
:: 
:: 
:: 
:: 
:: 
:: 
:: 
:: 
qarrtsiluni 