At seven years of age
I entered, wiped my
muddy feet, and set to
creating my emotions.

Lindale was the war,
it was sepia, it was
hunched over a radiogram
it grew its own veg.

It contained old people.
Family - probably - they
knew full-well most aspects
of keeping warm and

keeping warm. I often felt
sick with the heat, fires
ravaging each high room
a stuffiness of snuff and

tight collared gents, dying
slowly, whilst scrunching
the tabloid of the day into
obelistic fuel. Tunnel vision

tragedies obsessed by coal
and early morning frosts.
The Dahlia will droop today
I overheard them say.

I should have cared, alas
they smelled of fig trees,
had a parrot for a pet who
ripped their hair out

so I didn't.

Edited 2 time(s). Last edit at 01/27/2009 03:23PM by larkinabout.

I find this very strong, even though I can't know the place itself or the people.

especially strong:

I entered it, wiped my
Muddy feet, and set to
Creating my emotions.

I think "New full-well most things" was supposed to be "Knew full-well most things"

Anyway,

Cheers,

Peter

Fig trees.....interesting......I always thought the smell was either Lavender&Mothballs, or Vitamins&Urine

Thanks dudes.

I've tidied it up somewhat.

Johnny - From what I can recall, fig trees have a pungent almost ammonia like smell, like piss really!

cheers
Kris