Spanish steps

Spanish steps,
flamenco parlour games.
strut your pose,
crow…
rooster cock-a-doodle-doo
clog my ears with
your whining –
incessant begging for attention.

Pray to the disenchanted,
the disavowed reject you.
dirt roads lead nowhere,
dead end prancers skip rocks against
corrugated roofs.

We know you,
no exceptions
every white-bread cracker has his day,
must own up to inner demons.
Parched,
lips cracked and bleeding
spray food particles at a
dizzy
sun-baked outhouse,
shame no child should bear.

Their Michael

the light haloes
his baby face,
blonde stubble a light shadow on
his dimpled chin.

they sit side by side, arms barely touching,
hands not-
mother and father suffering his loss,
so silent their shared sadness.

her eyes shimmer unshed tears,
faint echo –
bemoan a life,
a body so young.

his back rigid, face front –
eyes stinging with fire from memories
never to be created,

in the distance, a door opens –
breath of an intruder.

he rises, turns to her,
nods once, he reaches out…

she stares blindly ahead –
seeking his hand to steady her,
rises slowly,
they go to him.

his hands,
so cold in death.
he clasps his baby finger,
she kisses his forehead,
one last goodbye,
their boy,
their Michael.

baby blues

Webbed lines frame perma-etched bluish-black bags
under her baby blues,
Every waking hour a nod,
neck snaps -
Rage at the moonlight
that seeps through the delicate lace.
She draws the curtains.

She sleeps on her side, back straight, knees drawn -
eyes blink open, shut, in rhythm to the
tock, tock
of the grandfather clock standing sentinel
outside her bedroom door.

Shadows play tag across the ceiling, ghosts on high
draw imaginary boundaries in waking dreams.
She lays her head gently on the pillow, sinking further
into its luxurious down,
praying for sheep to jump before her.