Apollo
In the leaner times it was
a bread and butter supper,
slaked with milk, perhaps
on the cusp of the turn,
the tang fizzing on the tongue-tip.
In the fatter times,
beef and dripping, the latter
glossy, chalk-white and viscous
as tart emulsion,
the beef crumbling to scuttle dregs.
And in the leanest times
we fed on the hot lick
of blunted candlelight,
even then there was always fire;
my father, Apollo, throat a lyre.
Ashleigh Davies is a graduate of Cardiff Metropolitan University. His poetry has appeared in Envoi, The New Welsh Reader and Poetry Wales among other publications. Follow him on Twitter @ashleighrdavies