Pastiche

~~

A pastiche of childish memories
fuzzy coloured in my mind
play hide and seek
with other thoughts
prodding them from behind.
Some just remembered,
thought forgotten almost dead;
others playfully popping up
inside my tired head.

The tuneless voice
of my brother
humming an old time song,
me trying my very best
to tra-la-la along;
Sandy Powell, comedian calling
“Can you hear me Mother”
radio laughter,
flickering firelight,
elbows nudging each other
upon the nursery fireguard
on blacked out winter nights;
that usually led to tanned backsides
and defiant pillow fights.

Suddenly it’s Springtime
Buttercup, Celandine, Lady's Smock;
brown leather sandles
with my Sunday Summer frock.
Teatime bread and dripping,
quiet time spent with our mum
listening to a forecast
for the shipping;
no wiser when it’s done!

Visits from the uncles;
Joe in his Glengarry
marmalade kitten for me in his kit bag,
indifferent uncle Harry.
He’s eager for a game of cards
nothing else upon his mind,
unless you count the glass of stout
and a chair for his fat behind!

Grandma trots down the street
cold bread pudding on a plate,
makes our Sunday tea complete
though just a little late
'cos soon led by his twitching nose
Uncle Tom (of course) turns up,
scoffs most of Grandma’s pud
and commandeers the teapot!
Gambles with uncle Harry
on the turn of a card,
both end up in a fight
yelling insults in the yard.
Grandma shakes her fists at them
"your behavior I can't abide"
clipping them around the ear
shouts "get you both inside!”

A wry smile lifts the frown
from my inward thoughtful face;
life hasn’t changed a great deal
just a different time, another place.
A similar set of problems
beset the family,
only this time it’s not Grandma
who sorts things out…
it’s poor old me!