One London Sunday Afternoon 1955

The fool's

a complete imbecile,

Gran said

or I heard her say,

moving the words

around my young boy head,

trying to make sense

of the words said.

I stood in the sitting room

as a conversations were exchanged.

A fire blazed in the fireplace,

coal turning red and yellow.

Old photos peered at me

in sepia and black and white.

I was given a humbug

sticky sweet

from a paper bag

and sucked peppermint,

trying to solve the words said

in my boyhood

innocent head.