You were neon pink
on a bright sunny day in the rain
You were the box telly we hit on and off,
the one which chose which channel we'd watch
or if colour was an option for the day.
Amidst you we heard the drunken rooks nesting in the trees behind the house,
locals telling stories and falling from their perches.
You were the elastic band I wore round the crown of my head when we climbed the windmill stairs.
As if I would take off and fly!
There I stood in my turquoise dungarees with a purple patch pocket,
clutching a Kimberley biscuit, grinning
like a puppy gone shany
or helium sucked up through a birthday balloon,
left speechless on the floor, delighted by it all and delighted by nothing,
but life.
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