‘New Year’

So many feet under the table,
the cloth dragged down
capsized the family meal,
broken crockery spilling blood.

Wolves prowl the edge of the city,
mind your gates, your gardens.

 My mother took her tea home to her tiny hovel,
closed the door to all revenants; dustpan
and brush keep the hearth clean,
her God tame and homely.

Motorbikes roar through sleeping
villages, black lips, pale-faced terror.

Virginia-creeper, leather on vinyl,
goodson, godson,  let him mad run,
tear up the limbs, crack the hidden
codes, of consanguinity.

 Wolves prowl the edge of the city,
  mind your gates, your gardens.

 It happened to his father, repeat performance,
she swallowed for eyes his mother’s
precious stones, tore out the corner sink,
ate his heart alive,  woman on the edge looking in.

 Motorbikes roar through sleeping
villages, black lips, pale-faced terror.

 The sick bear the brunt of generations.
He’d rather die than be imperfect:
her words, he ate them. Now cells
divide, grow teeth and hair.

Wolves prowl the edge of the city,
mind your gates, your hedges.

Wild horse running through the wordscreen,
white flamingo, wings descending,
stone god, eyes swallowing the sky.