Friday, June 24, 2005

Random Friday 356

And we're back. Sometime around 1980 I think all that was. The thundery sky of today has made me think of it again, all that water in the air without it actually raining, like walking through a shower all the time without getting wet. There were two older kids on the field with us, singing Geno and wearing dungarees though happily not like Dexy's, only the dungarees. They would throw strawberries through the air like frisbees with the aim of catching them in their mouths. I don't think they stopped once to think of me even exisiting; too much attention was paid to the girls among us, Sylvia out of time, with all those poems in her head was there, talking to the immigrants about the war and how it was wrong and that they had relatives old enough to go. This poem was in my head even then, before I first read it, a quantum uncertainty waiting to be made definitive by my slow realisation of what had happened to my own mother. And dungarees again. Always the same things, like the Bad Wolf down through history. And think of all the times it made it into the world and meant nothing to anyone, all those irrelavant references to it. Rose scattered it so far through history that for years we will have muddy-booted archeologists puzzling about this common thread, through wars and love affairs and personal assistants made VPs through death and inaction. Wipe the memory and the clues will remain, like ripe strawberries in these low bushes.

I eat a few but they get boring after 20 pence worth. We are not paid enough to keep this up, backs bent all day, scoring sugar rushes and going home sticky and muddy

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