A poem for my Mum

A Pocket Full of Pegs

On windy

Or sunny

days.

I plumply dance on dewy grass

my mother pinny pocket full of pegs

reaching down to basket of wet

flapping sheets.

hand in pocket and out again

fast

machine gun

pegging out

The line propped high

by

my

pretend

maypole.

‘Go and leave that pole alone…if….’

I miss the end

loving threats

underneath the washing

lying

on the grass

the sun

flappily covered by my mother’s knickers

and then out again

shining

 in my eyes.

The washing

blows whisks

swinging

over

 itself

hiding

the

pegs.

Tea towels

cuddle flick

swaddle my socks

my job

later to

get the washing in

end of the dark falling garden

cool

twilight

unidentified rustles

twitch

the

end

of

the

line

by the bottom gate

where

the

wild

things

are

Collecting pegs

in a big

spiky

pinny

pocket

too much washing

for little arms

dragging dangling on grass,

catches rubs between running chubby knees

tripping

me

safely

through

the

back

door.