Wenna

Do you catch your breath, before the sea, wondering what is left, remembering news reports, pertaining to your family, littered all over the Court, in dusty boxes spread, they danced on our street, that one of your friend, the Trucker whom he fought, mother's words now hush be, No inquests at our door,, looking after, time shreds, sepia colours in Terylene, minor demeanours without end, pressed shirts reposed, they were merchant marine, ocean waves and houses bought, across my history.