The Walnut
Out the back
Behind gran's house
Halfway down the street.
The little yard with the mangle.
And the narrow concrete strip path
That led to the other end,
Where the walnut tree ruled.
A musty tangled wilderness
Of corrugated iron and wire.
Only bluebells were allowed
To grow in the cool shade
Of the walnut tree.
Spreading it's branches.
Like an urban exile camouflaged Subjects
Wood ants foraged it's fissured bark.
In the summertime
Drooling old moggies
Lolled, cradled among it's boughs.
Autumn,
Gran stooped to gather the walnuts
Stuffing them into stockings.
Hanging them in cupboards.
Until Christmas.
My gran and the garden
She shared with the walnut tree.
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