Those Revelations Again Prevail
It was my duty as a child, I supposed,
to eat all my birthday cake on the day.
I wiped my mouth – and then turned the page,
sticky fingers on Dad’s National Geographic.
That great witness of the world, that shining
gloss of cover. “Deepest Darkest Africa” –
I wish to go there, I said, but with a flashlight,
of course. Where monkeys never see the light
of the day, sway blind in trees with no sight
or sun, and lions, tigers, prowl the stuff of night.
I was a cover for cake, in crumbs and dust
and milk moustaches as Dad, miserable
and moody, took away my Africa –
Of course sun shines in Africa, you foolish girl.
I was a brief witness to Dad’s mince
of inconsistencies, contradictions,
the epithet, the sound of nonsense.
Those parental passing revelations.
found and remixed from childhood memories and ‘Bleak House’ –
written for Barbara’s prompt at Red Wolf Poems