2015 Day 29 – From a Rhondda bridge

Leaning over,
We watched the swelling of the water
Hoping that this would be the day the river
Would burst its banks.
We were young, did not remember
The stench of mud soaked carpets,
Drowned gardens,
The grandmother, driven
From her cosy fireside,
The aunt, her belly nine months swollen,
Her arms full
Of wriggling, blind pups.
We were young, and wanted only
The unaccustomed wonder
Of rowing boats
in Rhondda streets.

Note: ‘Bridge’ prompt, second poem.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s