Power-Cut Me…Into The Woods

The tangle of wires wound around the telly,
they held me in place until,

The guy outside said,
‘sorry mate, we cut the wrong cable,’

There’s a murmur from dad the door and
I pick up my phone,
no credit.
I tap my fingers on the arm of the sofa.

Guitar?
Strings broken.
Set text?
Not Today!

I look at Bobby, chasing rabbits in his dreams.
I could walk him.

Closing the door, I hear my grandad say,
‘Your Adidas are gaining some experience pal,’ and chuckling to himself.
He liked a walk, and he’d tell me,

‘You’ve got to get some fresh air, matey.’

He only had marbles when he was my age.
What did he know anyway?

But here I am.
The birds sing,
the air is warm.
I begin to enjoy this.

I sit at a stump and let Bobby go,
where he barrels through the undergrowth.

A tangle of roots claws at my jeans.
I’m detained.

I look beyond Bobby,
who is now become leaves.

Just over the hill there you can see the church green,
And the old swings by the blaze pitch.
I won a goldfish at the fair there when I was seven.

It’s quiet,
the guy that passes me now is a neighbour.

‘electric’s, back on son,’ he smiles.

I nod.
I should go back.

But I think I’ll stay here
plugged in,
to the currant bush.

I hear my grandad say,

‘… good on you, son.’