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From Things You Find in a Poet's Beard by A.F. Harrold
Great grey belly porker,
toothy yawning slug,
giant in the mud,
Frost spins white lines
on the lawn,
grass turns glass-like,
It tastes of high clouds
of crisp cold
It tastes of autumn leaves
Trees are good at what they do,
at being oak or beech or yew.
If you think the tooth fairy has it tough
spare a thought for the Finger Nail Pixie
If you open up my skull
You won’t see a brain in there,
underneath the skin and bone
the humble sock.
Even a sock that’s old
will keep you from feeling cold.
Shirley was six when her teeth started to fall out.
Her big brother, Ben, told her not to worry.
I remembered how I used to play with my mum.
As a kid, in the kitchen, we would bake together.