To the rescue

In which we meet a memory

Wellies call to mind

Eight year old me, ankle-

Deep in sloppy peat and sinking.

No Prince Charming, he, but adept at

Extracting be-boggéd maidens nevertheless.

Scooped up beneath my arms, I

Dropped into adoration as he dropped me onto solid ground,

And watched him go back for the lone welly, its

Yellow rim indignant against the mud.

Enter your comment here...

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

Email (Address never made public)

Name

Website

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. ( Log Out / Change )

You are commenting using your Google account. ( Log Out / Change )

You are commenting using your Twitter account. ( Log Out / Change )

You are commenting using your Facebook account. ( Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

Medically Unexplained