No one knew why father

dropped his aitches,

or why he always wore

a long face in the company

of those dandies,

who flooded the neighborhood

with their customary

cock-a-doodle-doo.

they laughed, he too kept

a smile unwithered, tiny though.

they gave us pamphlets which

tasted of cockroaches

and biscuits which

told the unheard-of lies……

still father drops his aitches.

i like cherries,
specially
the ones with
blood still dropping
and wound
still yawning at me