This is
no Gaza Strip, no Berlin Wall,
push me and you're going to fall.
It wasn't you, or you, or you
Just something that I had to do.
He gave me to the tractor. It was a 'W' on my licence. I'd never been on one before, but I lied.
"How hard can it be?" He threw me the keys and it started up, into reverse and crashed into a line of bicycles.
He threw his arms up in the air. "I thought you could drive it". Don't ever presume. So he sent me to the carpentry.
There I sat varnishing the wood for double beds. Then she asked me to come work in the shop. Matushka. War weary all. The French guy never left his hut. He'd killed his wife in an automobile accident. The Argentinian came in exhausted, begging for mercy.
Big Jimmy walked by grinning loudly.
His parents had jumped together off a cliff.
When was five years old.
The cotton fields were bare
but there was a pecan tree nearby
and a wood-pecker pecked
as I strolled towards the showers
a kitten jumped up and clung to my sweater
he came back with me and lived with the mouse.
The orange groves were ripe for the picking
sacks and secateurs,
cubed crates headed for Jaffa
Where is the Jaffa Cake man now?
The early morning call .
The bakery knotting the Shabbat Bread
The volunteer girls giggling
the work weary sigh of the machines.
He came to ask me if I would save his father
this boy from Brighton, no older than me.
He'd been there too long and wouldn't leave.
There was no end to this girl's responsibility.
So they dressed as Poirot's and came to Christmas
while I sang the Town of Ballybay with the girl from Galway.
I picked Pecans from the ground, because I could
added them to the bounty of food.
The masks left early, those rolling stones
but still they tried to get me to take him home.
I couldn't go, i was paralysed with the grief
of the death of a child.
no Gaza Strip, no Berlin Wall,
push me and you're going to fall.
It wasn't you, or you, or you
Just something that I had to do.
He gave me to the tractor. It was a 'W' on my licence. I'd never been on one before, but I lied.
"How hard can it be?" He threw me the keys and it started up, into reverse and crashed into a line of bicycles.
He threw his arms up in the air. "I thought you could drive it". Don't ever presume. So he sent me to the carpentry.
There I sat varnishing the wood for double beds. Then she asked me to come work in the shop. Matushka. War weary all. The French guy never left his hut. He'd killed his wife in an automobile accident. The Argentinian came in exhausted, begging for mercy.
Big Jimmy walked by grinning loudly.
His parents had jumped together off a cliff.
When was five years old.
The cotton fields were bare
but there was a pecan tree nearby
and a wood-pecker pecked
as I strolled towards the showers
a kitten jumped up and clung to my sweater
he came back with me and lived with the mouse.
The orange groves were ripe for the picking
sacks and secateurs,
cubed crates headed for Jaffa
Where is the Jaffa Cake man now?
The early morning call .
The bakery knotting the Shabbat Bread
The volunteer girls giggling
the work weary sigh of the machines.
He came to ask me if I would save his father
this boy from Brighton, no older than me.
He'd been there too long and wouldn't leave.
There was no end to this girl's responsibility.
So they dressed as Poirot's and came to Christmas
while I sang the Town of Ballybay with the girl from Galway.
I picked Pecans from the ground, because I could
added them to the bounty of food.
The masks left early, those rolling stones
but still they tried to get me to take him home.
I couldn't go, i was paralysed with the grief
of the death of a child.
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