The frozen water’s perfect skin is flawed. An arm’s length from the jetty a jagged scar has knitted up the wound I made when I pushed you in. © Helen Whittaker http://theduckside.com
Posts under ‘Non-rhyming’
Stained lips
I remember when you were a bridesmaid at Aunt Evie’s wedding. Someone gave you a blackcurrant whistle pop and your lips turned purple. It took me half an hour to scrub the stain off. That green sheet doesn’t look anything like your bridesmaid’s dress and the purple stain on your lips won’t come off no [...]
Pocket money, December 1972
Tom stands on tiptoe his forearms resting on the counter. He slides one sweaty palm aside to reveal the full moon of a ten pence piece against a black Formica sky. On the shelves in front of him constellations of sweets twinkle invitingly: gobstoppers as big as Jupiter, liquorice Catherine wheels that suck in light [...]
