Waste ground sacrament

The mouth
of childhood
is laughter, liquorice dark


Teeth stained long after
you spit it out


The aniseed taste of droning dragonflies 
over the scry and gravel heat
of waste ground


Iron where you bit your cheek


A sting


The twisty shape
soft 
        and thick
             as mudded rope


Barbed wire and glowing jimson weed
in caduceus tangling


Step heavily

Python-backed
you
      can’t 
lift your feet