Alma’s Tricky Biscuits.


Lie down in your backyard; let Alma comfort you
With sore swigs of apple-nettle juice
The bandy-legged crows pluck at the rusting
which was once  a refrigerator
I can smell rat-Saturday blowing up the high street
The ineffable litter of hoodwinking dealers
The morning window scrapers, the sweet angelic
blessed by a vagrant tiny tributary
and Ophelia’s weed-

I found some words on a corner-torn Rizla packet

This man is loitering
I don’t know if he has intent

It gave me internal rickets.


Veronica Aldous all rights reserved 2017

Photograph Veronica Aldous


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