SWEET AS THE HIVE

Another poem written in a workshop. The brief was early memories and this was mine.

EARLIEST MEMORY

when me and my mum

came out of Berry’s corner shop

that overcast autumn morning

my three-year-old hand in her calloused palm

as we walked along Wallace Street

she said to me

let’s go home and have a nice hot drink

in my head I could see

the Camp coffee steaming

in my little white cup

milky mud brown sweet as the hive

You can look Wallace Street, there are many of them around the UK. 

Speaking of streets here's the Modern Lovers.

Until next time.