Meg and the Sun
The sun got tangled
in the branches of an old Hawthorne.
Daybreak hung down
in grey strips, like a torn parachute
among the knuckled finger-bones
of the grasping tree.
Meg, the younger sister of Bill,
wanted to shin-up and dislodge it.
we thought there was a good chance
we boys would catch a glimpse
of her knickers, so we agreed
to give her a leg-up.
Her skinny limbs, skirt hiked up,
snaking through the spiky twigs
until she was about half-way
to the sun.
Black branches shook
and thorns rattled,
then they loosened their grip
and the sun rose.
Meg whooped and almost fell.
We others grinned sheepishly;
Bill looked at us
as if we were all crazy.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2022
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment