<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
A Child’s Tale<\/strong><\/p>\n This is your father, my mum whispers. During breakfast the snap, crackle and pop Later I play footie for my school tribe – After supper I let them be. <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Phil Wood<\/strong>: Poetry is a lifestyle outside the place of work, which is a statistics office. Recently published work can be found in London Grip<\/em> and The Open Mouse<\/em>.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" A Child’s Tale This is your father, my mum whispers. Her hands telling me to call him ‘dad’. Tonight I find the dad sprawled across mum’s bed. Like a hairy spider, like a beetle on its back, like a black octopus. There is no room for me in the sea. You are […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-5929","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-prose-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5929","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=5929"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5929\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":6047,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5929\/revisions\/6047"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=5929"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=5929"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=5929"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nHer hands telling me to call him ‘dad’.
\nTonight I find the dad sprawled across mum’s bed.
\nLike a hairy spider, like a beetle on its back, like a black octopus.
\nThere is no room for me in the sea.
\nYou are too old, my mum whispers –
\nher voice a sort of sly sound like a snake makes
\nbefore swallowing its eggs.
\nLater, shivering and awake, I hear vipers hissing –
\ncoiling beneath my damp bed.<\/p>\n
\nare muffled in the fly-clotted air.
\nHe is Lord of the Flies.
\nA blue bottle bloated with sea-dreams.
\nThe knife purrs as mum spreads butter on toast.
\nThis room smells of bacon fat,
\npink flesh speckled black,
\nthe egg yolk blotched red, mushrooms buttoned brown.
\nIt’s a full English for the dad.<\/p>\n
\nkitted in amber and black, swarming
\nlike a frenzy of bees.
\nI wait as a king, the drones do their insect thing-
\nand as quick as a cobra blinds I strike the ball
\nto score:
\nan egg nests in a spider’s web.
\nThe dad’s face is a crimson moon,
\nhis voice like a squealing hyena,
\nall the swarm get wind of him
\nand my mate asks –
\nis the dad your new dad?<\/p>\n
\nI have an early night.
\nGood night son, they smile
\nlike crocodiles
\nwith sun-hardened skin.<\/p>\n