NaPM April 13 2014

[Keith]

Druids and drinkers

We spent all day
spread soft on woolen threads
bike helmets sided pillowed heads,
posing with corn stalks
on our lazy lovers rug.

The grass was cut Victorian,
clover cooled our summer cheeks,
it took me a day of drinking,
to find the Druid her fourth leaf.

I placed it as a pendent
to her yellow white-green chain,
wore it crowned a hippy chick,
that fed on bags of fingered chips,
cradled in her lotus legs,
whilst evening air
slapped straight our heads.

But the night had brought me more,
wobbling onto twisted slats,
we sat in the balm sipping beer gardens,
and still I thought it safe to ride
and hear the groans of bone and blood,
smashed into steel, just parked,
no one sat behind the wheel.

I'd slipped inside a tarmac curve,
you woke with swollen limbs
but ligaments would mend enough
for Monday morning limps.
You believed its luck ran out,
not much left inside the leaf,
just enough to get you home,
my stem required a wreath.