Time cut short by a pinch,
the butter, once destined for a child’s bag of ingredients,
fails to make the crumble.
And it
s
l
i
t
h
e
r
s
down
a kitchen cabinet,
greasing a wooden door, and
slodge-piling
onto a
vinyl floor, as a mother’s feet, weary from a once-broken
toe, and a now-broken
morning, slither on
under.
Copyright owned by Jay Cool, March 2019
Image by tatlin on Pixabay.com
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Published by The Silly-Savvy Salopian
Freelance writer and descendant of the cave dweller and outlaw, Humphrey Kynaston. Banished from Shropshire for my eccentricity, I have made my home in Suffolk. I write poetry, short stories, travel journals, comedy gig reviews and non-fiction articles. My wish is to write my way back into the heart of my birth land. All writing commissions (and free holidays in Shropshire!) considered.
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