Ta Da

Standing on curb edge looking at tar bubbles
In joints of street cobblestone heated by
Seldom seen Liverpool sun
Sticking twig sticks in to break them
Then lifting the shiny wetness of them
To stick onto the curb edge
The rough blunt edge of granite
Next to the flat smooth flag stones
Where did that word come from?
Holds the twig firmly
For a brief childhood moment
Remembered clearly
Sixty three years later
Copyright © | Year Posted 2005

Poem

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