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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.
Five children clasping mittenscould not hug the entire trunk.Whole hands could hide in the folds of its bark.James, the tallest boy in class,could sit on a root,
Dada has stories from Calcuttawrapped up in his big belly.When he belched they would unravel.
Kicking the pebbles along Eastbourne beach
as the orange-pink of sunset
plays with the ebbing tide,
my mother asks…
Billy chased me round the playgroundwith hands full of fists
Billy yelled at me across the football pitchwith a mouth full of stings.
The biggest berries are in the centreof a tunnel of thorny bushes.A shark gaping wide,promising not to nip.
I am the clash and collide of the starsbecause I create worlds.
I am the awareness of the treesbecause I hear the wind.
A little bit of rice,a little bit of pea,on my platefor my tea.
A little bit of jam,a little bit of toast,in the morningswhen I love it most.
Seriously I’m really very cool
When I went to school
With the headmaster
I drafed the rules.
We studied my hair
Miss Flotsam was my reception teacher.She had travelled the world.Brown hair turned goldenunder distant suns,clothes carrying coloursfrom countless corners of continents.