Pennies in his turn-ups

The windows sweat.
We’re sitting in the scratchy chair,
My brother squirms against the wooden arm.
The newly mended fire stings my toes.

We hear his drinking laugh
Ricochet along the passage.
Mother checks the room, her smile’s in place,
The curtains flinch, the fire sparks.

Toes tucked up, hissing ears, ready
To melt upstairs, to kiss, confess
Or search for pennies in his turn-ups.

Tonight it’s chips.
We kneel on the rug to eat,
He tells us tales as we lick our salty fingers


About Linda Nicklin

Live in the East Midlands with two cats and a dog. Occupational Therapist and serial course taker. Trying to find my voice through song, creative writing and this week block printing. Next week who knows...
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One Response to Pennies in his turn-ups

  1. nattkane says:

    Beautiful imagery Linda. Love the title. I can really imagine the whole thing,


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