THE DA Your face was the colour of grey December, Da, your breathing laboured as I spooned a little soup. And when they came to take you, Da I knew death had arrived. I smelt it's dusty shroud as it passed me, Da to keep pace with you upon the stairs. When you said 'Take care of Mother,' your voice so weak, Da I wished I could die. I crept into the bed you'd left, Da. My body slipping into your curve. The cold froze the marrow in my bones, Da as your pillow soaked my tears.

A Rosary for Danny She moves the table nearer to catch the best light. Places coil of copper and silver wire, the pliers and two boxes of loose horn-beads, two-tone green and black. It is my task to grade and match for her to twist and loop into ten Aves, an Our Father and a Glory. I recall the lightning dip and snip of pliers held in work-worn hands. Two dozen decades done and strung on a length of copper wire, then on to the next two dozen and the next. The evening Sun dips and is gone. Time to light the lamps. Calculating with aching muscles the money that will buy his books.

Aunt Gretta We'd trudge up the hill Salt-bloomed, sand clinging To damp towels, Sure of your welcome. Scramble for the table Beneath apple-trees, Benches rough On sun-burned thighs, Sandled feet swinging Inches from the grass. We'd lick juice from our lips And chase tart crumbs With salty fingers As you swirled water To warm the pot And warned of bees. Then games of cards With faces poker straight And harmonising "Loves Old Sweet Song" While we played "Hide and Seek". And the fuss of one missing Then found asleep Where Bonzo and the Shadows stretched. When midgets swarmed We'd head for home Leaving you our captured crabs And the roar of the ocean In a curly shell.

MANIC The beam of her smile beckons me to where she waits. Her eyes glitter like diamonds scooped from the crest of a wave. She dances, announces she could fly to the top of the Christmas tree. No beacon guides me when next I call. The fairy-lights have gone out and she lies among discarded cheer where needles pierce her skin.

Lines Down Phone cables stretch like childish scrawls across the landscape, reminding me of whispered secrets, long conversations ago. Did they become red-hot, like my cheeks, at your words and quiver with our storms then snap, weighed by frozen silence? Through the dusty train window I watch them keep pace with my thoughts as wheels prattle on about bridges burning.

Malicious Gossip Perched on the bare branches of dreary lives they crane skinny vulture-necks, snot green envy dripping from their beaks. Puffed up black feathers release an odour of funereal piety which spreads it's cloying sweetness into every ear. They hope the mid-day sun saps the gladness and joy from their prey while they cast no shadows but watch with hunger and curved talons for tit-bits of scorched skin.