Burnt sweet potato, pigeon blood

Memories of this place.

Burnt sweet potato.
Pigeon blood.
It wouldn't come up

A 2 bed rental.
Housed our birthing pool.
Stagnant water from a stay in hospital.

 First responders and midwife  treads

An untouched courtyard.
Plans of plants just roots in our heads

An unhinged neighbour. A freedom fighter
left drowning in his stereo, the night before 

Rat Olympics from the kitchen to the bin store . 

And a landlord second toke nonchalance  

But Our little carpet crawler, new knees, the bees knees, we could've been
in a tent and still been happy with him. A new lease of life.

Every moment marked in these four walls. (but any)

Every moment now flaking paint in a world pandemic 

Having to downsize due to COVID19

The first bird song

I can hear the first bird song
through the baby monitor

Feeling like I last ate 3 meals ago

In the dark drive
where blues run the game*
could be consequential to the day

The birds and their sleeping audience
have so much to say

about that.

blues run the game* by Jackson.C.Frank

For Roo

As Schubert offers an upright,
to those fixed, blue eyes
ascends the octaves over the house,
Our time gently flies
A morning sweep, curtain beams,

I come to the conclusion
that you'll be in an observatory one day
If not by occupation then certainly in spirit.

And, at times, the world will try
and remove you from these observations
and I will try and keep you with them

It will be a tug of war until my end.

Here comes the sun

In six months time, we'll know the routine
Here comes the sun*
Nina thumping on the keys
Beaming sunshine, gentle sweep

Here comes the sun...

I can hardly wait


(Written the week before my first baby boy is due.)

*Here comes the Sun by the Beatles (perf Nina Simone)