The bluebells, he cries, are a slide made of sky

lying over the hill where I'd like to decline

his interrogation fired ad infinitum

until all the eggs have been counted and eaten.

The Question- Master demands instant answers

and a database big as The Bible.

The family might call it repartee -

for me it's a matter of survival.

 

Dandelions can be yellow or white;

they're like you and me, one so much in the face

that he stings the eye, one barely giving

the time of day. We're going there and back

to see how far it is. These high tunnels

are The Knight's Maze and if we'd stuck to the left

and you'd not run ahead then we wouldn't be lost;

helicopters find us even in the dark.

 

Butterflies can travel wherever they want -

Africa, China or New Zealand.

The knights fight their battles when we've all gone home:

those hollow shells that hang around are filled with limbs

that arm themselves with swords and shields and clink

and clank and tumble down the wide stairway.

From The Red Room to The Gothic the walls are spotted

with blood and gore and the cleaners come in early.

 

Yes, Jesus was just an ordinary man;

he said he'd bring a sword but he didn't.

That table's not where the disciples had dinner;

he did kiss him but he wasn't gay;

there weren't any pilots or planes back then.

Our bodies make pictures on the grass

so the multi-furred dog with two legs

at the front can hide in them from the sun.

 

Your mother  thinks that I joke and tease

but there really is a dungeon down there

and I just might throw you in it.

Your dad goes into hospital the day the prince

gets married; his bones will be broken, his heart

mended and we'll live happy ever after.

I told you not to put all your eggs in one basket

and look what you've gone and done!