Wednesday, July 28, 2010

Rain poem

There are holes in the sky
Where the rain gets in
But they're ever so small,
That's why rain is thin.
Spike Milligan

I learnt this poem from my grandparents, who loved to read us Spike's poems. It reminds me of visiting at their place...
air filled with the smell of sawdust and varnish
sitting on paisley flannelette cushions
eating home crumbed fried flathead
bobbed haircuts courtesy of Emily
Hardy's laughter
goodbye dances in the middle of the road
treadle Singer sewing machine
all sitting in the fold-out sofa bed watching Charles marry Diana
they never smoked, but had an ashtray that spun the ash away

small, idiosyncratic, precious memories prompted by the rain today. Does that happen to you?

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