I dearly love this hulking, hump-backed thing

hovering on my lawn. An exotic beetle-

This time capsule, poised taut and proud in Summer rain.

Walls tight as a drum skin bead away rain

as I gaze at my childhood colour.

That orange- so bright outside but within?

Lurid. Flaming. Bathing everything in a warm glow.


I’ve only now to close those zips and I am six again.

Feeling my pupils dilate in the neon haze.

Alert to every strange noise, even the scratch of grass

beneath my knees beneath the groundsheet, brown as Feast ice lollies.


Yet more than anything is the smell.

A poignant reek of dust, thick cloth and early mornings.

Petrichor at its birth.

This unfurled sail from my past-

a nostalgia missile, hurling memories like shrapnel shards,

leaving no wound save a deep longing-

for a time I keenly feel yet

can no longer see.


Copyright Tom Tide 2017








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