Tuesday 29 March 2016

What Am I?

Photo will not help! Simply Spring....


I am fired and fuelled in a brick-lined box.
I devour everything, but I prefer the snap
and crackle of twig and the taste of black bog.
Coal raises my pulse, makes me fart and hiss and spit
cracks my bone and scorches my skin, leaves scars
like efflorescence and keyholes that flicker
and glyphs that beg answers.

Dogs lie at my feet, their snouts a hairline
fractured width from singe.
Women curl their toes next to me.
Hang their smalls to dry on my frame.
Some of these I scorch
Just for the hell of it
And to let them know

I’m no pushover…

Copyright with Cathy Leonard 2016