Born on an island in '63
four milk skinned sisters, and then me
dark haired, coarse and curly
with eyes, an unexpected blue, steely
as the Irish sea.
They say my father left that way
a mendacious, itinerant runaway
but I know he's lying nearer than that
when mother takes his grey felt hat
and resurrects an effigy
On wooden cruciform support
serge coat and trousers wedged with straw
according to an ancient lore
Arms asunder, crucifixed
he flails with the wind in our arable fields
upstarting birds that come to thieve seeds
For Melissa’s Poetics April Fools prompt a poem of truth and lies in a 40:60 ratio (more or less!)
PoetryPix 