Tuesday, 22 November 2011

Harold In The Memory Store

I’m in the Memory Store where the relics of the mind can be tried on for size, and returned if they don’t quite fit. Here’s the early years rail, located next to the pre-teen shelf. An oversized TV, - black and white of course, the screen set in a zebrano cabinet.

Complementary biscuits are provided - nice. The sugar granules dissolve on the highway of my tongue. The door’s left open to let in the sun. Geraniums, African Violets in real flower pots. They breath out purple and blue, red exhalations. But wait! Stop everything! Here is some breaking news…

Grandad, sleeves rolled up, the sun accentuating the white hairs curling like pipe smoke up his arms, explaining who Harold is. Harold in welly boots, two long-eared dogs keeping him company.

walking through green fields
the mechanics of memory
slowly failing

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