heavy shelling
the pathway to the red front door of number twenty two
was bordered by two immaculate waist high hedges
parallel laurels clipped and choked by a mothers pride
a post downfall nirvana for slugs and snails of all kinds
fat umber leopards mingled with aspersa and pomatia
leaving the route to the house a pyrrhic battleground
the cost of a war between giants and gastropods
tattered doc martens and crisp, cornflake shells
the sweet amber days were mere skirmishes
practice runs for the jet black midnight crusades
a sherry addled teenager hell bent on terror
full of repressed rage and egg shell anxiety
the snap, crackle and pop
the rustle and the razing
they never stood a chance
each step extinguishing life
each cut and thrust dismantled the defences
until the red door was cold breath close
the battle was over
the war had begun.
Harry O'Neill
Tue 24th Nov 2015 22:22
Stu,
Shouldn`t that be splattered doc Martens...And what did your mother say when she opened that red door :)