REMEMBERING MRS SCRAWLBUCKET.

A BOY'S MEMORIES OF CHILDHOOD.

And you remember Mrs
Scrawlbucket hanging over
The wall talking to your mother
And the yak would go on for hours

And she had this cigarette almost
Permanently attached to her lower
Lip and her eyes were a deep brown
Like large cow eyes and they’d stare

At your mother as if they’d drink her
Up and take all the juices from her
And she’d look at you and say you
Want to look after your mother boy

Because one day she might be needing
You and you just stared back at her with
The cigarette rising and falling with
Her words and her eyes following you

And her words feeling heavy on your
Ears and her large breasts sat on the
Wall as she spoke like obedient puppies
Quiet and well fed and mother yakked

About the price of goods and how your
Father was always late home and when
He got home he would sit in his chair
And fall asleep and Mrs Scrawlbucket

Would nod her head and haul in the
Smoke and release it afterwards into
The air and you’d sit there watching it rise
Like grey ghosts dancing before your eyes.