RESISTANCE

 

We used to raid the freezer

in that dirty garage but cement

and dust made him cough.

 

His mother was a puritan;

he'd sniff and splutter when upset,

dance defiant on the car roof

then run off to town

giving her two fingers.

 

Winter mornings across ice,

spitting steamy gobs

through a face-hole in wool

with pale knees shivering

out of coarse grey socks

and after he died

the school doctor said

I'd developed a resistance.

 

Wouldn't need that second jab

like all the rest of them.

 

 

Published in Message in a Bottle Winter 2017.