All night Tippi and I lie with our arms
wrapped around each other
like rope.
I bury my face in her neck
and she wakes every now and then
to kiss the top of my head

I have been here once before – It was a long time ago, I don't remember when.
But as my father handed me the axe-head
Images exploded in my brain.

He was seven and I was six, my Brendon Gallacher.
He was Irish and I was Scottish, my Brendon Gallacher.
His father was in prison; he was a cat burglar.

  Nicholas, I’ve warned you

about not paying attention

in my class.

This is your final warning.

At swimming once,
I went to turn from front to back
and just kept turning,
just kept turning,
turning over,
over and over,
till the swimming teacher said,

Dada taught me cards.
Sitting in his suit of pants and vest.
A fistful of joker-red hair strewn across his brow.
His big belly like a cannon ball.

Dada has stories from Calcutta
wrapped up in his big belly.
When he belched they would unravel.

Nell drives and we don’t speak.

Every limb is numb

or aching.

My mind is racing

           and then slow.

Never

Kicking the pebbles along Eastbourne beach

as the orange-pink of sunset

plays with the ebbing tide,

my mother asks…

Tippi can't stand clowns.
Dragon is terrified of cockroaches
and Mom of mice.
Dad pretends to be fearless,
though I've seen him flinch when the mail arrives