Jam

The coat is cut

The boots are home

Waiting to turn soft

I sit and wait my turn

Turn and turn

I pick the walls of myself

Dismantle the walls of myself

rubble ash dust

We all fall down

One glorious moment

With Alice in my hand

Now this waiting is not curious

It irks me

Holds me

When I do not want to be held

Too many hands

Holding back rubble ash dust

Using ticker tape not hazard wire

All so futile really

my home my home my home

there really is no place like it

I don’t think the boots will take me there

They are too heavy

And not red

I play with the line

Fine line

End line

Keep that line alive

Little silver cross of metal

Alice in a jacket

Too tight for her to run

We have to sit

Like good girls

Wait our turn and turn and turn

Drip a little red

I am glad we did not trip

Waking

I am glad we did not trip

In the new boots

I do not remember the name they called

But me and Alice came back and back

To play in rubble ash and dust

How delightful it will be

To eat jam and powder for tea.

 alice came to visit..it is sunday..we thought we would put our coats on and scribble as we always do..perhaps we will fit just right with the word to come..if not..well..it's still good to go to the tea party.. j x