Puff Daddy is telling us he’ll be missin’ you
and our fingers smell of the greengages
we just picked from your Granny’s trees.
The seats are either leather or a material
I am too young to remember.
I am in the seat behind your Dad
and his brains are bulging through his skull
with stories from a job I’m scared of
and ancient wisdom like, The meaning of life
is a glass of red wine and a good book.
The first greengage we chewed up that ladder
tasted as sweet as the time
we scoffed a pomegranate with toothpicks
and dry fried cashews over the hob.
I have no idea
Faith Evans was married to Notorious B.I.G.
My ears aren’t quite ready to understand sad.

© Carl Burkitt 2021