It
doesn’t take much –
the
sizzle of bacon frying,
a wasp
squashed by a newspaper,
a
dandelion,
a soft
handshake,
the smell
of bleach,
champ and
butter,
raindrops
on a window,
an ink
blot,
finding
coins down the back of a sofa,
tomato
sandwiches,
a TV
theme tune,
washing
up liquid bubbles,
stewed
tea,
whispering
a prayer,
melting
candle wax,
talcum
powder,
a full
moon,
the rush
of a tide,
a crying
baby,
good
manners,
a church
spire,
daffodils,
Bisto,
knitting
needles,
paraffin,
Forty
Shades of Green,
furniture
polish,
rosary
beads,
snooker -
all this
and more
and I am
my mother’s son again.
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