four slices.



she brought him four slices, butter

on white, fairly thick. he piled it high

with breakfast ingredients, and chips.



an hefty lad, avec  workmates.



she asked if i will like toast or bread

and butter.



the latter and let it be white.



the coffee was milky.

yes.



i am sixty years older than you, think on that.



my mother’s name was madge, her mother

magdeleine, your grand grand parents.



it is said that i have learned more than you,

yet today   you come  wiser than i.



boy.

do you not know the name, some do

and believe in her. the rod of jesse.



some say it is a pillar of salt

yet the news says most people

don’t.

more down the middle

now, not touching the sides

so much.



limbs hang looser, hardly tied.



it is a soothing thing apart from string,

to walk the higher road.



this is not a metaphor.

it leads to llanfachreth.

charcoal.

yes

a soft substance

easily crushed,

manipulated.

must ensure,

i am not.

painted my face again

like i powdered yours,

coty alabaster.



made you white

and sickly.



sweety child.



i took the face again,

painted it white

and full

with the ghost of a tear.

a drop that welled

red

and fell.

so the bear has become a companion.



of sorts in times of stress

and needlessness.



i call him darling sometimes,

not often.



some days he stays in bed ,

not often.



some people are witnesses, study

the evidence.



i prefer the bear.