by Andrew Taylor
Blossom blowing Spring time breeze
‘Do you like the pretty blossom?’
driving from Maghull Station petals
blowing at us through air vents
Like a one footed pigeon scurrying
for scraps I’m precipice peering
pushing onwards strength sapping
as storm clouds rumble empty belly
On Dale Street puddle jumping
soaked knowing pain cuts through
you easily stinging and leaving its
mark like the fox returning to earth
‘Do you like the pretty blossom?’
three years on the answer is that
I always have takes my breath
away like tearing chest ligaments