Portrait

 

She dragged
the barrel out
of the shed

because she
saw the marks
without saying
a single word

as I listened
to melancholy
keep repeating
through white
earphones.

"Grab
everything
he gave
you kiddo"

my hands
pulled out
a museum
full of pain

I didn't have
the stomach
watching a
jumper burn
up in flames,

I know
my heroes
get a kick

out of grand
pyrotechnics

but I simply
couldn't do
that to them

because
they don't
deserve
to burn

by people
who live
recklessly
painful,

I hope hills
on the heath
haunt every
bone left
in you

as your
portrait
dives in
a barrel
head
first,

I hope you
gaze at breeze
raking itself
through grass
left untrimmed

until your
brown eyes
fill each lid
in visions
of us

sitting on
every inch
of hill we
claimed

like your
portrait
on the
fire.